Summer was coming to an end.
The yard was heavy with that deep tired green and rich rich yellow.
He had a scrape. Or a scratch. Or the thought of one. Enough to empty the box of bandaids.
And we knew it was time to make some fresh winter healing oil.
He harvested; carefully picking, then plucking. We waited for a bit of a wilt, then bathed them in oil and tucked them into the sun.
The whole thing lasted less than an hour but was filled with beauty. See, it's tradition. And it's for our family; our tribe. This gift comforts and heals and can be shared. It brings the sunshine into the dark.