Beltane \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Planting Moon<\/p>\n
This Woolly Mammoth group sounds silly. \u00a0I mean, Woolly Mammoth? \u00a0After all are we not men?<\/p>\n
Then 26 years of meeting twice a month and an annual retreat. \u00a0Not so silly. \u00a0Now like the Velveteen Mammoth, rubbed so often that it’s become real. \u00a0We have grown old together and that seems like the prize in the Cracker Jacks box, one we didn’t even know was there.<\/p>\n
Companions. \u00a0Friends. \u00a0A place to be who we are, even when it hurts. \u00a0And now a place to follow that last ancientrail together, with witnesses.<\/p>\n
Warren the fly-fisherman. \u00a0Charlie the poet. \u00a0Stefan the painter and poet. \u00a0Mark the artist. Bill the connector. \u00a0Tom the child waiting to go outside and play. \u00a0Scott the musician. \u00a0Frank the shaman. \u00a0Paul the woodsman. \u00a0And myself, the gardener.<\/p>\n
We are no longer our professions or our jobs, rather we are defined by our passions and our mutual affection. \u00a0Woolly Mammoths. \u00a0The herd moves along the trail, picking buttercups.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Beltane \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Planting Moon This Woolly Mammoth group sounds silly. \u00a0I mean, Woolly Mammoth? \u00a0After all are … Continue reading Silly<\/span>