Michael and I celebrate 39 years together, 37 married. We are stardust. We are golden. And we have to make it back to our garden.

These are the rootlings that anchor us in time and space.

We create space.

The rootlings engage in activities beyond our time. (Was I ever able to do a head stand?!?)

We celebrate the passage of time. (Michael’s new favorite is carrot cake.)

We take advantage of our gift of snow to turn our old ducks, chickens, gizzards and venison hearts into brats and kielbasa. To be eaten, turned into energy and growth, until we fade and become stardust once again.

What does man gain from all his labor at which he toils under the sun?

Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever.

The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises.

The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course.

All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full.

To the place the streams come from, there they return again.

All things are wearisome, more than one can say.

The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear it’s fill of hearing.

What has been will be again, what has been will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.

Ecclesiastes 1: 3-11

Michael and I shared a love of the wisdom of Ecclesiastes before we met. It is the glue that binds us, makes us fertile soil to support new growth and a return to ashes. We are stardust; there is nothing new under the sun.