fennel

foeniculum vulgare

the smell is warm, rich, deep. 

it reminds me of winters in wisconsin. 

my grandparents home. 

thick blankets of snow, 

invariably obscure jazz radio playing in the background. 

grandma dot was a dancer, seamstress, and artist- crafting tales of lineage and intrigue in the kitchen. 

always with a scarf knotted around her neck, black ferragamo heels. 

gifting me her olive tone and petite frame.

my grandfather imported wine from europe, 

they gathered artists, creatives, free thinking professors for 

long, intentional, slow, carefully crafted dinner parties. 

soup, a main dish, salad and cheese.

invariably finished with dark chocolate. 

in the winter, 

i would stand by the gas stove with her and make pizzelles, 

slowly pouring batter into the iron press, 

covered in the patina of years of devotion. 

two flavors- traditional, and anise or fennel. 

cookies crafted by generations of familial hands, generously offered with chocolate and port. 

shared with loved ones. 

gathered around the warmth of the table,

adding depth to the narrative of the season. 

fennel, mercurial in nature,

through the lens of virgo. 

weaving story through the infinite gift of detail. 

a teaching of the importance of how. 

the how of tending. 

the gift of intention. 

and like those long, slow, winter evenings, 

gathered with friends, family, tribe,

fennel soothes the inflammation that arises during the inward movement of winter.

often paired with other warming spices-

the brilliance of mercurial dialogue, 

understanding the importance of community conversation as a digestive ally, assisting regulation of response as we move through experience, 

spinning protective threads of mercurial curiosity. 

distinct aroma, welcoming deep inhalation, 

comforting irritated lungs, 

as we breathe in, through, and with. 

may you gather wonder,

all ways, always.