is there a metaphor in bruising, in making a salve - with petals gathered, oils infused and wax rendered - applied tenderly to skin bruised, that might help me learn about rupture and repair, that might soothe towards healing an old heart wound? is there a connection i might weave
i sit and write by my window, and look up often to the twin berry in the garden i tend, yellow bell flowers often visited. a jar of marbles is close-by because my dad told me no one plays with marbles anymore, but my friend and i have small collections
invitation to join for beeswax mini candle dipping: Sunday May 25th 2-4pm by drop in to make a mini-candle, hand dipped by you, beeswax and wick provided. 🌞🌱🌻🐝 At the pandora park fieldhouse 2325 franklin Street.
a tsp of honey is transformed by the honey bee into 1/8tsp of wax, a bodily alchemy. it's an incredible conversion: nectar gathered sip by sip, transformed within, to wax excreted flake by flake, sculpted bee by bee to hold whole lives – whole complex lives. scraping comb
coming through winter into spring, and spring into summer, i return to what i know: infuse oils, melt wax, mix well, pour into vessels, share. today at the pandora park fieldhouse, where i am currently a space sharer and artist in residence, i open the windows in the rain, boil
this is * Time and Times * — an offering from sarah comyn that is just getting started: between worm and bud moons, and as I close my project of the last thirteen years. my intention here is to share recipes and reflections on honey bee and plant medicines I'm working