What if I asked you when you last lay on the grass & listened?
When the last time was you stroked every single wildflower you could hold, without picking them, in your hand?
What if I asked you how your heart feels when you are near to cornflowers; their dancing, delicate beauty?
What about the last time you gasped at the sight of scabious at the edges of your view; perfect purple pincushion?
When soft pink poppies are on the turn, their petals giving themselves over to the earth beneath your feet, what kind of grief is the grief that rests within your tender heart?
If you encountered this cosmos, nearing the end of July, what song would you feel rising in you?
What do you need at the moment, to help you feel like you again?
What have you been missing, for far too long, that you can call back in towards you once more?
How might you make room for tenderness, even—especially— amidst such heartache?
If you are the flowers this month has held for you, who are you right now, and who are you becoming?
How might you learn, like those flowers, new ways to sit with impermanence?
What do you want to set down, what can you shed, to nourish the soil in which you are planted?
What do you need to let go of, as July leaves us, and August takes her place?
Take any, or all of these thoughts, and do with them anything that might help, hold or honour you.
Brightly, X
This beautiful piece has helped me to cry and reflect on the grief that I feel over the loss of my husband who was a gardener and the important decisions that need to be made in order for me to grow onward … thank you
Such exquisite questions and images. I started today wtih a lot of grief, some of it from exhaustion from a busy work period plus lots going on in life, and the tiny body of a wren on our balcony mirrored the sadness, but then a lovely email that books I'd sent had arrived and holding space for a group who gathered to tender and listen to this Lughnasadh season and your beatiful post nudged the day in a new direction. Thank you.