In Honour of Wattle.
In honour of Wattle.
I can’t stop staring at her.
The wattle.
I’ve never seen her like this before, never noticed her in this way, not this vibrant, not this alive, not this insistent. I’ve admired her in the past of course. She’s always been there in the early whispers of spring, painting the landscape with her golden breath, her gentle return after the quiet of winter. But this year? This is next level. I cannot for the life of me, stop staring.
It’s as though she’s calling me. Like a lover who won’t let me look away. Everywhere I go, she is there.
Just today, I was at the post office. A lady was sorting through a pile of little cards from a local photographer, and my eyes first landed on a deep red rose. But then she pulled out the next one. Wattle. Two bees hovering in her yellow glow. And my whole body lit up. I knew those cards had to come home with me.
Even as the sun dips now and the clock edges towards 6pm, I look out the glass door of my cottage and all I see is her. That yellow is still burning bright, almost neon in the fading light. How is it possible that she glows even in the dark?
Lately, I have been asking myself: Why am I so obsessed with her?
And then I remember. Yellow is the colour of illumination. The colour of joy. The colour of the solar plexus, the centre of our sovereignty, power, and will. Yellow dissolves grief, it cuts through shadow, it insists on being seen. It’s the colour of the sun itself and perhaps, right now, I am craving that medicine more than ever. Plants have the most beautiful way of calling to us, beckoning to us in timing we don’t understand until we take a step back. And I know I am being called. I know I am being welcomed in. This sparked such an interest, a wonder in me. I have felt her call since the 1st of August, since that Friday morning when I saw her blooming down at the wood shed.
And of course, like the little Virgo I am, I had to know more, I had to learn more.
The wattle, I’ve discovered, has always been a teacher of thresholds. She’s the one who returns first after fire, regenerating the land, covering the blackened earth in a blanket of gold. She whispers of rebirth, of resilience, of joy after devastation. Her message is simple, but potent: You can rise again. You can bloom again. You can shine again.
Maybe that’s why I’m so taken by her. She mirrors me back to myself, the fire in my belly, the joy I’ve sometimes forgotten I’m allowed to feel, the power that can so easily go quiet if I let it. She is a beautiful reminder of the light within me.
And so I let myself be obsessed. I let myself be pulled into her bright embrace. I let myself see her everywhere, in blossoms by the roadside, in a postcard with two bees, in the neon shimmer of her glow outside my door and windows at dusk. It brings a smile to my face every time I notice her, a warmth to my belly and a softening in my heart.
And maybe obsession is just devotion in disguise. Maybe I am being called to devote myself to this plant? This reminder of resilience and joy. This softener of grief. Maybe I am being called to bow, to give gratitude and to become the student of the plants.
So right now, I am devoted to wattle. I have ideas, ways of working with her swirling in my mind, in my heart, begging to come to life. And just today at the post office I collected some of the last things I required. She knew. She knew my hearts desires and showed herself to me in yet another way. I am deeply grateful.
She has me feeling the spark of inspiration, to craft, to create. She has me wanting to learn more about her, about how she works, how she’d like to be honoured here on this land. And how I can best care for her.
I did take a small branch of her on Imbolc (with permission of course), and she sits on my altar space and honestly just brightens it up. Her little balls of yellow, the small orbs of power and joy, bring just that into my little cottage. The yellow so vibrant and joyful, you can’t not smile when you look at her.
She has awoken something in me. Genuinely awoken something. A feeling of lightness, a feeling of joy.
Photo taken 6th August.
Imbolc here in Australia, I could not stop smiling and admiring her, and I am in love with this photo.
Wattle has given me a pause of reflection, something in which I treasure. These may resonate with you too.
Reflections with Wattle.
1. Where am I being asked to rise again?
Just as wattle blooms after fire, where in your life are you being called to regenerate, to return brighter than before?
2. How does yellow live in my body?
Close your eyes and imagine the colour yellow radiating in your solar plexus. What emotions, memories or sensations arise when you sit with this light?
3. What am I obsessed with right now and is it devotion in disguise?
Consider the places or symbols you can’t stop noticing. What might they be trying to awaken in you?
4. Where can I welcome more joy?
Wattle does not bloom quietly, she sings her colour across the land. Where in your life can you unapologetically invite joy, light and softening in?
And so I sit with her, this wild, radiant wattle letting her yellow seep into my bones. She reminds me that joy is not something to chase but something that bursts forth when we let ourselves be lit up by life. I feel inspired, softened, and wildly excited for all that is unfolding, for all the beauty still to bloom, and for the ways Spirit keeps showing me that wonder is everywhere if only I choose to see.
With love always,
TJ
