In the spring, I was the orange fairy. I brushed my fingers along a few of the lavender-colored blossoms and watched them glide down into my palm. I cupped and held onto the orange-scented petals like a treasure. The honeybee buzzed in my ear and I sped around. The cool air nipped my nose and I went in the direction of the sunbeam that parted the branches behind me. I smiled a child’s smile. The sun warmed my face as I turned my head up to greet it.
All of the magic under this majestic canopy of oak was now visible. The effect was dazzling. Ball moss spun on the lower branches. Cardinal air plants clung to the massive trunks. The emerald palm grass silently shimmered around me while the ancient split-leaf philodendrons nodded back and forth. The lavender azaleas were draped with silver green moss.
The royal cardinal spike of the olive shaded bromeliad was crowned with translucent twirled buds painted purple. The bromeliad stalks were everywhere and were flowing with pockets of white cottony triangular flowers. Another had a red spike with black patterned dots and reminded me of a pineapple. Out front, the bromeliads were smiling with their lavender blooms all cuddled up in delicate pink blankets.
I lingered awhile swaying back and forth and stepping in and out of the sunbeam. It tickled me inside. I opened my palm and the orange petals released their fragrance.
In that precise moment I became the orange fairy.
I returned to the circle where tea was served. My hostess prepared a concoction of spring water infused with orange blossoms served in a miniature china teacup.
I daintily picked it up using only two fingers, because you see, it was a very tiny cup. There were flowers painted on the sides and the handle and rim were gold. Orange blossoms floated on top of the water. I brought it up to my nose and tipped it. I inhaled steadfast and deep.
I drank of the thick sweet fragrance. That cup of tea transformed me and defined my soul and sole purpose: to bloom as a flower. I set the little cup down and graciously thanked my hostess.
Before returning to the ‘summer’ home I absorbed the last energies of what the spring mother had left me with:
In the Carolina laurel berry trees the stamens burst forth like cream spraying out of a fountain of beauty. I wanted to sing a morning lullaby to the new oak leaves as they unrolled themselves out of their branch ‘cradles’.
In several weeks the flowers would be replaced with miniature oranges cradled in scalloped sepals. They would smell just like green tangerines should.
The warm ripe juice they conceal feels as if the sun is trickling its blood down your throat awakening all your senses.
And then spring divinely blurs into summer.
Why orange? The great orange sun rising in the summer mornings reminds me of ancient summer stones.
And in this morning solstice , a cooler breeze brushes softly against my skin with just a touch of moisture.
My feet are bare and I am grounded to the earth and her mineral kingdom beneath.
The energy keeps a hold of me here.
The sunlight filters through the massive canopy creating a show of glistening light. It dances with the bird’s music and is carried on the wispy breezes.
The ants and other creatures bide for my attention as they crawl over my feet and occasionally drop from the branches above.
I believe the last dewdrop has just been squeezed out of the dawn and has fallen on my arm. It was the last dispersed. If given another minute, it would have, for I barely felt its silken touch at all.
Have I slipped away into another realm? I feel so much peace coursing through me. I relish my existence.
I think of summers gone by when I was very young and of my parents sitting outside on the old slab foundation of a shed or outhouse, which, I’m not sure. There were flowers and vegetables planted there. It was most Saturdays during the summer. The smell of cut grass lingered into the long days. They sipped beer and laughed. We played around them, secretly delighted that they were there, with us, outside.
My attention is brought back to the leaf debris fluttering wildly on a single thread of a cobweb.
Summer has arrived. Unscathed and not so green as you might think. My new growth is merely just a branching out of the wise old lady. An improved mold made from the same flesh and water.
My summer growth will soon cover me like moss growing on a tree. If you have worried about losing a part of you through growth don’t, you won’t.
Think of a foundation, a new and better and stronger one sitting in place of the old but molded and shaped lovingly to better suit the new you.
This is creation using nature’s ingredients of earth, water and fire to help you perpetuate new endeavors. Get out there and drink. Their energies are much stronger in the wild summers of our days. Savor their colorful subtleties and powers of restoration. Taste the flow of goodness as it pulses through you.
My dreamy thoughts this morning have evolved into knowing. Their divine power is creation. Having immersed with the harmonious energy flitting around me I find myself grounded in summer.
The light is dancing again and I am scintillating.
