Of Leaves and Lace
So fragile the buds and blooms of early summer.
Their existence on slender stems
glue their world together
with what seems like magic.
A trance I find myself in,
as I wander the freshly wet flower beds of my front yard.
Some buds have come and gone,
crisped by our unforgiving May sun.
Some barely announce themselves,
as they crack open a deliberate case of hardness,
the protective sheath between the elements and tissue
of a body not yet born.
How I admire the slowness of budding.
Nature takes her time on this one,
and every flower demands their own way,
their own becoming.
Earlier this month, I had the pleasure and priviledge of taking a trip back home. And for those of us who have moved from home, uprooted ourselves, and transplanted to different parts of the country, you will understand this story and feel it in your aching bones this alchemic feeling of family. And, of course, it's delicate nature.
I have a niece. A beautiful girl who will most certainly give her momma hell when she finds that genetic wind beneath her wings. I couldn't help but shed a tear as I boarded the plane back to Montana, shuffling through so much that had happened in those short days visiting. Her first year and a half on the planet, and I have missed seeing her live much of it already. I fear for the future and how much she will really remember me in her young life, and for that matter, I worry about what's next after a thousand plane rides home just won't cut it and that nagging voice in my head that always says "stay" might. actually. hold court.
Not all was blissful. Torrential rains and tempers ran rampant through the week, both mine and all of the women-folk of my family. It was not a graceful week of life on the homefront, I must admit.
Burnened and gifted with the fiery wit, tongue, and temper of a thousand red-headed german women before me, I see too both the older and newest generation of women carry that same burden. Oooooh the fire! And even in the bluest and hottest of flames, there's so much beauty in it too. I can't help but feel that lacey and intrinsic bond of beautiful family even as we lit fires and set them aflame with what seemed like dynamite and diesel fuel that week. I can't help but know we will all be fine and good and well, but that bond is a delicate one. Much like the flowers in my garden. All taking their time to become as they should be. Trying not to be scorched before their time is up.
There is no rushing these blooming bits of life.
There is a delicate and particular nature of a flower unfolding.
And there will be no rushing of it, either.
For the patience and persistence to bloom,
in your own way,
with the vigor and excitement and happiness
of every flower that ever came to bloom under a golden sun.
Because, dammit, you'll spoil it if you can't sit back and just enjoy.
Shop update THURSDAY 6/4 at 6pm tentatively....
because murphy's a bitch.
This pendant and a BUNCH of other work will hit Etsy then!