I may have set my flat on fire on the night of Baltane, I thought, as I left a thorny bouquet in persuit of a potentially burning iron.

On my way there I’d still not decided what to bring as my offering to the Women’s Circle that evening, to represent love and beauty. I’d considered my purfume, cheek tint and a card from a friend, in the rush of getting ready. But it struck me on the way there, that it was right next to me the whole time. It was the hedge. The one I pass on my way to work, to various community groups, to the beach and on my way currently to this circle. They show the seasons. They’ve let me change. They provide themselves again and again. I stopped the car at the next passing point and cut some of the bracken and picked some of the flowers. I realised they were not as soft and delicate as they seemed from the drivers seat. I recieved some scabs on my wrists and stings on my arm during the process. They reminded me in that moment that love and beauty often comes with pain and scars and stinging, as much as they do with vibrance and excitement and journeys. It is real love when the travellers passing through can endure both the beautiful and the difficult.

That night was the first time in maybe a year that I felt beautiful. I was wearing a long black dress that I took up the hem of and left my sewing machine and box strewn across the kitchen table. I wondered again if the fabric was near the iron. I felt glad to have turned around and be going back. I’m glad to have made the choice to enjoy my time there not thinking about a potential fire here. My friend who runs it also needs pens and also needs me to enjoy myself tonight. I took a photo of myself in the mirror, maybe a remind to myself. Maybe as a reminder to people that I can be more than functional and useful and needed. I felt beautiful that night, not because a man has told me so or in the hope that he would. But because I chose to, because of the power of women and because I am seeing myself.

The iron was on and I turned it off. I collected a handful of colouring pens. On arrival to the circle, 30 minutes late, it turned out I was the only one who had remembered. My friend had tried to contact me, but I was driving. So she said it was up to me if I wanted to stay, it was more of a line than a round this evening but as we enveloped eachother and I decided I wanted to be present, even if it was just for two points meeting. We chatted, shared stories and expressed our challenges in holding our boundaries. It is interesting what we have forgotten to remember.

Not the flowers in question, picked by Pūlama on Sunday 18th May