In bud, bloom and bust, this trio of flower sisters made poesy to me in a Nimbin churchyard on the fourth of July.
Nine days later, in circle with my father's sisters and my own two sisters, a trembling, quivering energy is present: it is the delicate thread of my dying father's last breaths on earth. Ushered again into that portal between worlds by Dad -  one who called me into this life on earth - he is now giving us the gift of accompanying him to the edge of leaving.
Even under the constraints of his advanced Parkinson's mask - and after a week of refusing all meds and food - it becomes surprisingly clear that the space (presence, love, ... ) he is connecting to, is becoming larger than his impulse to breathe. With a sharp look of wonder, his clear blue eyes are taking in something we sense but cannot see. There are two or three more small breaths, spaced far apart. Each one is almost like an afterthought. Until he simply surrenders, and the breath falls away. All our eyes are welling up, some of us are sobbing. A bracelet of hearts, hands and eyes flowing as he lets go of physical form, his release felt through all of us.