Yarrow

It is appropriate I would write about you first. For I dreamt you before I ever saw you. Delicate, fragrant feathers falling from the sky like goose wings with the quietness of snow. I stood with palms outstretched and watched with childlike wonder.

We first met along the sub-alpine meadows, wrapped in a cloud. Here, was safety, and I collapsed into the earth and marveled at Wy'easts majesty through your ferned leaves. You were a home to return to, a sanctuary of silence, spare the occasional dry humor here and there.

Last September, I came to you crawling, battle scarred, and raw. I climbed through draping lichens and moss, scaled cliff sides, and waded tide pools until I saw your petaled heads dancing in the sea breeze.  I awoke the next morning to a cloak of mist surrounding us. The Hemlocks under which I'd slept had disappeared into the sky, and the beach had become an island. For seven days I plucked your green tendrils and the last of summers petals, drinking nothing but Yarrow tea and breathing nothing but salty air. Wearing every piece of wool I owned, I foraged for seaweed along the shore and watched the full moon tide wax and wane until the sky bled to black. It was here, I stood at the knot. The wetness was inescapable, permeating and biting into your bones. All that was left was to breathe deeper, and let Her consume you. 

Yarrow, ancient one. Mother of boundaries, healer of wounds. She clears the blood and clears the mind, cradling all in her white cloak. She is a North Wind. Keeper of the Fey, for she can make you hidden, can show you what is hidden, all while keeping you unseen. She is cool, yet stimulating. She cannot be pinned down, for her gifts are myriad. She is a queen of polarity, a bringer of harmony, and will restore balance across many systems.

It was wrapped in her veil, in sacred solitude, that my boundaries were restored. Yarrow can teach you to protect yourself. When you become weary and burdened, punctured by life, let her resilient spirit drink you in. Listen to her song and pick up her shield. In her presence, I feel brave and resilient. I pick up the pieces of myself and fold them into one another carefully, cleaning out the wounds methodically and slow. The stitches are neat and tidy. The shield feels sturdy and strong. Soon, my lungs have expanded and my mind is still.

I do not know a better ally for the activists and empaths, the healers and warriors with ferocious yet tender hearts.