a little thing, asleep in a sitting up position holding a pair of dried out dandelions. She was perfectly pale, perfectly still and seemed straight out of a Thomas Hardy novel. Those dried flowers like some powerful metaphor for both life and lifelessness. Of late, I have felt a little like those flowers, tired and dried out but sticking around clinging to the hope that there is still purpose for the tired and dried out. Clutched so meaningfully by the still, still girl I could feel hope lifting in me. She could see clearly their value, their true measure.
I don't think that in life we like to face our fears. At the beginning of last week, I had to begin the journey of facing one of mine and I didn't like it. Not one bit. But then as my hubby scooped me up and listened to my worries and allowed me to collapse into him, I remembered aloud, 'I don't like change' and with that I immediately felt better. I thought of those dried out dandelions and I've thought of them often in the days between then and now.
Today is mine and my hubby's nineteenth wedding anniversary. I have now been married more years than my parents were married before my father died. I married a brilliantly impossible sunshiny dandelion. Together we weather the storms and celebrate the seasons and admire in one another, the faded yellows and the dried out coats that we now wear. We cling to one another, cling to the hope that there is still purpose in us. I can see the value, the true measure of all of these years. With him, my huckleberry friend. In this life, there is gold and there is mud. Gold and Mud.