Day 22 of 30: Earth Day & Dandelions
A prompt on the wisdom of the natural world by Azita Ardakani
Hi friend,
Today is Earth Day, and we’re excited to share a prompt about the wisdom of the natural world.
I have to admit that I didn’t think too much about nature when I was younger, but my regard for it changed dramatically when I got sick. That first summer of cancer treatment, I was entirely deprived of anything natural, confined as I was to a hospital room where the windows didn’t even open. I remember being gripped by such deep yearning to stand outside, to feel rain on my skin. I had always taken nature for granted; never again.
After treatment, I began joking that I’d start to wilt after more than two weeks in a city. Whenever I could, I’d steal away, and I began dreaming of a home in the country. The thing that makes New York City magnetic and electrifying is the same thing that makes it depleting—the cacophony of sounds and the charge of ambition in the air, the flurry of pedestrians and the constant hustle and hurry.
Now I live on a road where the neighboring properties are mostly farms, and the best moment of my day is the morning walk I take with my dogs. Whether it’s snowing or raining, or sunny with a bright blue sky, that’s where I do my best, clearest thinking. Step by step, as I gaze across the fields, as I pass between the trees in the nearby woods, the knots in my head untangle.
Today’s prompt contributor, my dear friend Azita Ardakani, also shares a deep love of nature (though as an expert in biomimicry, she’s on another level). I hope that today, you will celebrate the beauty and power of the natural world—to see its wisdom and feel its solace.
Sending love,
Suleika
Dandelions by Azita Ardakani
By the time I was sixteen, I had moved over fifteen times. It was such a blur that I just lost count. Some of the moves were dramatic, like from war-torn Iran to Canada. Others were more easeful, just three blocks away. Every time I moved, I had to rearrange my inner furniture to make sense of my new surroundings. I put grief further in the back corner, then eventually moved it up to the attic. I plastered the walls with a thin facade of courage and hope for everyone to see.
But one day, stepping off the bus, I realized it was the wrong stop. I had forgotten where I lived; I didn’t know how to make my way home. Immediately I fell to the hot sidewalk and began to weep. I was placeless, entirely unoriented, wondering if the concrete could hold my weight, or if I’d descend into some abyss.
Right then, my eye caught a dandelion cluster. Impossibly yellow petals contrasting their proclamation of life against the sky’s blue. The promise of transformation right next to it—another dandelion, this one a feathery white orb of seeds. They, too, were barely hanging on. They, too, were a whisper away from a journey into the total unknown.
Maybe it was my desperation, maybe it was mother nature's spirit herself, but I felt their wisdom, as certain and rooted as an elder. Against all odds, they'd found a place to grow. Their stems upright, their seeds designed for easeful dispersal, a kind of trust in the movement of life. As if hearing the question I didn’t even know I was asking, a gust of wind arrived, and with it the tiny radiating discs with their impossibly thin threads parachuted away, swaying, dancing, out of sight. I stood upright, like the stem below, I lifted my head, and I was home.
Years later, I was looking at my handful of childhood photos, and I noticed one from when I was a baby and one from when I was about six. In both, I clutched a single dandelion. It turned out they were drifting with me all along.
Your prompt for today:
Write about a time when you had a pressing question and nature provided the answer.
This is such a beautiful prompt. I keep reveling at the words and at the whole situation. It's crazy how the universe can be there for us without us realizing it and how it can provide us the answers we need the most. Thank you so much Azita for sharing a bit of your story and for this amazing prompt.