How we tell time: An invitation
Let’s create a new community edition of Dandelion Seeds.
Hello! And welcome to Dandelion Seeds, an illustrated newsletter that’s hand-painted and hand-lettered, from my desk to yours.
Last week, I published a new illustrated essay — a short story for spring called “How I Want to Tell Time.” And right before I hit send, I very nearly included a question at the end, inviting you to share about the rhythms in your own world that let you know a new season is near. No clock or calendar needed.
I even thought about putting together a new community edition of Dandelion Seeds with your responses — and in case you haven’t seen them, we’ve created two such collections before: The Sounds of Home and The Words that Remain.
For both editions, the stories were written by you, illustrated by me, and made for true creative collaborations.
At the last minute, however, I decided to keep things simple and share the essay without a question.
But then, to my great surprise — and delight — many of you began to share your stories of spring’s arrival anyways, and they were beautiful.
There were stories about apple blossoms in Maine and cherry blossoms in Tokyo, and I was especially moved by your stories from spring of 2020, when nature offered a way of marking time and staying grounded when we all felt anything but.
And so today, I’d love to officially invite you to be part of our third community edition of Dandelion Seeds, How We Tell Time. If you haven’t shared your story already, I hope you’ll leave a comment here this week:
How do you tell time? And how do you know a new season is near?
I’ll then hand-letter your responses and publish them next Tuesday, which just so happens to be the first day of spring this year. Pretty perfect, right?
Thank you as always for being here, and I can’t wait to read your stories.
With love,
Candace
I'm new to this group, forgive me if this comment is too long:
how I tell time.... now
when there's no pause in the rhythm for spring break
when I can rise with the light
and go to bed when I'm tired
when there's no spring practices, concerts, or conferences.
but instead
texts of;
"Hey mom, look at the view out my window!"
from the East coat, the Pacific Northwest, and the sunsets over the Rockies.
I now tell time by
creation's witness alone
of birdsong and buds
of days growing lighter
comparing spring snows and spring rains
with my newly grown and flown Beloveds
this new way of telling time is hopeful and bittersweet.
As a nonnative in the country I live in and climate change this is becoming harder.
But temperature is one, when my coconut oil is solid = cold and winter 🥶 When my coconut oil is liquid = hot and summer 🥵
Irises 🪻 come at the end of winter along with almond blossom 🌸 (originally would’ve been spring).
The sky is a light blue 🩵 in summer and a dark blue in winter 💙
The sea 🌊 is dark & freezing cold in winter and warm, shimmering & transparent summer.
Rain comes in the shoulder seasons, but as we’re in a big drought it’s less reliable.