Write a dialogue between a tree and a flower

…to the very last magnolia

The prompt writing is below the 🌸🌸🌸. The written meanderings of a joyful but exhausted human below the 💖💖💖

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It is a quiet morning at the wondrous mercantile I get to spend my Mondays. The morning mail crowd having already come and the lunch crowd yet to arrive. It is a small bit of calm in a day that is generally filled with delightful chatting and story full interactions.

This space provides me with so much. The space itself is beautiful and warm. You can feel the heart that it took to build it to what it is emanating from the walls, the floors, the people who work here. It is magic.

Maybe it’s strange to look forward to Mondays. But I do. Here I feel cared for and celebrated for who I am. Here I can exist as the multitudinal weather pattern I am.

Today my wondrous co-worker apologized for calling me ma’am after I made him a cup of tea. Because I’m non-binary. But when he calls me ma’am it fits like a gentle glove. I can feel the respect and familiarity it conveys. My gender is really all encompassing. When I found the term gender fluid at the age of 33, it just fit. I very rarely enjoy Miss, Mrs. Or Ma’am. But occasionally I feel the warmth of those honorifics. Like the four year old I used to make waffles with. She would call me Miss with such care.

Some days. If I’m feeling safe, I’ll let a treasured barista or person I encounter regularly in on my gender. But sometimes…I’m just too tired. But I am forever advocating for my friends, family and the queer community as a whole (and its various diverse parts).

I received an email from a friend wishing me a happy pride, with pictures of a rainbow bench she had installed in her yard and I cried. Because she reaches out to me regularly to acknowledge my queerness, and she’s from several generations above me, and she isn’t queer. But she has a family member that is. And her caring for the community is fierce and gentle and she was one of the first people in the small town I used to live in that I disclosed my non-binary identity to. Because I felt safe.

When I moved to my new home I finally started saying my chosen name with the matter-of-factness it deserved. For most of my life I’d been apologizing for who I am, excusing the people who “just couldn’t get it”.

I still have a lot of space for teaching, and growth, and explaining. It’s part of who I am. If someone wants to learn, I’ll take the time to sit. Because I hope that my taking the time might help someone who no longer has the energy to explain themself. It’s an emotional labour that can both be exciting and exhausting.

I remember my mom, when I lived in Seattle, asking me about the differentiations in terms/communities/gender/sexuality and it was an honour to help her to understand. She even mentioned that she had someone way back in her family who was likely bisexual. I loved knowing that there was a queer history even in my very own line.

As queer folks we are often asked the questions “how did you know?” Or “what does that even mean?”

And for me queer had always meant not really identifying with the boxes folks tried to put me in. As a small child I would name all my “boy” dinosaur toys girl names, and all the “girl” toys boy names. At 11 I had two secret alter identities. “Tiffany” when I wore these super femme sunglasses, and “Kris” when I wore my black hat. I found role models in the rockers of the time who eschewed gender and did what they pleased. Some wore make up and others wore lose fitting clothes to hide their secondary sex characteristics.

They didn’t convince me to be who I am. I *saw* myself in them. I would have been the way I was no matter what.

My sexuality is a little harder to explain, but what it amounts to is that I’m into personality. I am into the person in the flesh casing we carry. Whatever the combination of parts. I am just happy you exist. I am married to an agender human who uses they/them pronouns, and I love them for all that they are.

My name is Wake Lloire, I use they/them pronouns and I’m but one star in the beautiful galaxy that makes up queerness.

I love that we live in a world with such diversity of expression and experience. I’ve always taught my children to “let people tell you who they are.” And if you make them feel safe and valued. They will.

Heart,

Wake

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Write a dialogue between a tree and a flower

A conversation between a magnolia tree and the last petal of the last remaining flower.

Tree: How are you feeling today?

Flower: I feel beautiful, and also as if the end is near. Do you know that feeling? It’s a bittersweet feeling. I know I’ve lived, served my purpose, and my petals have been safe haven to bees. I’ve also been shook by rain storms and grilled by the sun. How are you feeling?

Tree: I feel like a change is coming. Once I was full of flowers, and the brilliant buzzing of small winged creatures. Now the leaves are here, I am green. The birds can hide in my branches. It’s strange to know that soon all of this will be gone and I will be bare again. Is it worth it, your short but beautiful existence?

Flower: Absolutely. Do I wish I had more time? Obviously, as the last of my kind on your branches, I took it. I lived my life every moment. I think now, I’m ready to let go. It’s been magical being here, with you.

Tree: I’ve enjoyed our moments together. I’ll miss you.

Flower: Thank you for that. I’ll miss you too.