marigolds teach lessons

i love to deadhead marigolds.  the satisfying snap of the calyx, the scent that clings to your fingers.  i have to stop myself from deadheading all the marigolds i see in the world.  not only is it a very satisfying practice but it helps the plants to continue flowering.  by removing the dead bloom, you reroute the energy to the new growth.

as i have been wandering through the town i grew up in, i have been thinking about deadheading.  how i have applied the practice to my own life.  cutting off old blooms, friendships, flames, passions, expectations in order to give myself energy for my new endeavors.  

this is not new news, it is growth.  but when confronted with folks who have known you and your family for your entire lifetime, it is not easy to recognize the person you used to be in their eyes.  

even my friends that i roamed the woods with growing up, know so little of me.  as we sit in the cool vermont august air, wine glasses full, our lives unfolding in our conversations, we learn of who we were, and how we remember.   and we laugh.  and giggle and gasp at us.  at our lives. big unwieldy lives that tumble from our hearts and into our hugs, and longings and stories.  and then it is midnight and the wine bottle is empty and our hearts are swelling with the relief of friendship. our faces are are sore from smiling.  

i close the door behind me and walk into the night.  the porch light turns off behind me and i am left in the muted brightness of a waxing moon and the vermont stars.  i watch the sky, the pale line of light where the trees meet over the road to guide me through the black of the forest.  this is where i am from.  my skin is alive here.