Ooo, I can definitely relate to the complexity of all of this, Luisa. I hope you do allow it all and tend to yourself with gentleness. (And reminding myself to do the same.)
Gorgeous! I very much resonate with this. The haste to reach spring (“your spring will come”) is like our obsession to rush people out of pain. The seasons teach us so much about what *is* rather than what we *want* it to be. Thank you for sharing this 🤍
Such a good comparison, Ange. Our culture absolutely rushes people past pain. Hurry up and grieve, preferably as quietly as possible too. Pretend and ignore, hurry past, carry on. I’d much rather be super comfortable at all times but learning how to sit with discomfort is a skill worthy of our effort!
This captured so perfectly what I've been feeling through the past week.
"don't rush, not yet"
...this week's heavy duvet of winter feels comforting, somehow. Walking along the river a week ago, watching little signs of coming back to life, I would have said, "I'm ready for spring". But it was like Mother Nature knew..."You still need winter. It's not quite time yet." A call to stay close, to move slow. To be undercover.
"But what if the flora and fauna are not caught by surprise? What if they’ve evolved and adapted to seasonal undulations? What if we have, within our own cells, that capacity as well? What if these fluctuations are spring?"
...It's funny how ingrained it's become, to view seasons as linear. When if we look to any shifts, they move in fits and starts, in leaps forward before pauses back. In nature, in life, in projects or goals. How beholden to a calendar, to a clock we've come to be...as though a date on a calendar flips a switch on something different. Where have I taken this on when it's not what I know to be true?
...The undulation of spring back to winter only to uncover a new layer of spring has me reflecting on what it is to be in the liminal. In the in between. Neither one nor the other. It feels, in seasons and in my life, like this time is liminal. To stay present in the in between while the seasons move around me.
Now...to bundle up. To head out into the woods. To walk a path that, when this melts, will become messy and squishy. But for today will be soft and peaceful.
Yes, Robin. Yes! What scrumptious reflections you’ve shared!
I feel such a relief in those ‘bonus’ winter days, like an affirmation that I’m not behind at all. I love how you referred to it as a “heavy duvet of winter”. Mmm.
“Where else have I taken this on when it’s not what I know to be true?” <— what a worthy question to ask ourselves. I will be lingering in this.
And yes, yes, yes, that liminal space. I have a rough draft saved and a series of paintings that I’m working on called “Liminality”! Life is chock-full of these in-betweens that deserve our acknowledgement. We’re chasing some sense of arrival when everything is an in-between something and somewhere! Now, to say present in it all. Thank you, Robin.
Thank you, Jamal! I just love the perpetual journal! It’s an idea from botanical artist, Lara Gastinger, who has created a lovely community of curious nature folk.
So beautiful Erin! Your description of winter and the need to slowly emerge is how I feel too. I haven’t had the words this year so I skipped writing about it but every sentence you wrote feels like you’ve looked into my heart and head. ✨
Oh, I’m so glad it resonated, Carmen! In a world that’s constantly telling us to desire and chase the next thing I’m convinced there’s more of us who are hungering for that slower pace.
Ooo, I can definitely relate to the complexity of all of this, Luisa. I hope you do allow it all and tend to yourself with gentleness. (And reminding myself to do the same.)
Ooo, love your pantoum and love your nature diary/notebook.
Thank you, Tamsin! It has been a rather life saving labour of love.
I long for the spring. For the warmer and longer days. I crave light. The constant damp we have had this year has been so depressing.
I totally get that. The damp dreariness can bog one down, for sure. I hope sunnier days are on their way for you!
Gorgeous! I very much resonate with this. The haste to reach spring (“your spring will come”) is like our obsession to rush people out of pain. The seasons teach us so much about what *is* rather than what we *want* it to be. Thank you for sharing this 🤍
Such a good comparison, Ange. Our culture absolutely rushes people past pain. Hurry up and grieve, preferably as quietly as possible too. Pretend and ignore, hurry past, carry on. I’d much rather be super comfortable at all times but learning how to sit with discomfort is a skill worthy of our effort!
Oh I want to read this again and again and again
Thank you, kind Nelly. I hope you do and it continues to meet you in what you need.
This captured so perfectly what I've been feeling through the past week.
"don't rush, not yet"
...this week's heavy duvet of winter feels comforting, somehow. Walking along the river a week ago, watching little signs of coming back to life, I would have said, "I'm ready for spring". But it was like Mother Nature knew..."You still need winter. It's not quite time yet." A call to stay close, to move slow. To be undercover.
"But what if the flora and fauna are not caught by surprise? What if they’ve evolved and adapted to seasonal undulations? What if we have, within our own cells, that capacity as well? What if these fluctuations are spring?"
...It's funny how ingrained it's become, to view seasons as linear. When if we look to any shifts, they move in fits and starts, in leaps forward before pauses back. In nature, in life, in projects or goals. How beholden to a calendar, to a clock we've come to be...as though a date on a calendar flips a switch on something different. Where have I taken this on when it's not what I know to be true?
...The undulation of spring back to winter only to uncover a new layer of spring has me reflecting on what it is to be in the liminal. In the in between. Neither one nor the other. It feels, in seasons and in my life, like this time is liminal. To stay present in the in between while the seasons move around me.
Now...to bundle up. To head out into the woods. To walk a path that, when this melts, will become messy and squishy. But for today will be soft and peaceful.
Yes, Robin. Yes! What scrumptious reflections you’ve shared!
I feel such a relief in those ‘bonus’ winter days, like an affirmation that I’m not behind at all. I love how you referred to it as a “heavy duvet of winter”. Mmm.
“Where else have I taken this on when it’s not what I know to be true?” <— what a worthy question to ask ourselves. I will be lingering in this.
And yes, yes, yes, that liminal space. I have a rough draft saved and a series of paintings that I’m working on called “Liminality”! Life is chock-full of these in-betweens that deserve our acknowledgement. We’re chasing some sense of arrival when everything is an in-between something and somewhere! Now, to say present in it all. Thank you, Robin.
Beautiful reflection 🖤
The nature notebook sounds like a wonderful idea too!
Thank you, Jamal! I just love the perpetual journal! It’s an idea from botanical artist, Lara Gastinger, who has created a lovely community of curious nature folk.
That's amazing. I'm not a nature enthusiast but the beauty it presents is undeniable.
So beautiful Erin! Your description of winter and the need to slowly emerge is how I feel too. I haven’t had the words this year so I skipped writing about it but every sentence you wrote feels like you’ve looked into my heart and head. ✨
Oh, I’m so glad it resonated, Carmen! In a world that’s constantly telling us to desire and chase the next thing I’m convinced there’s more of us who are hungering for that slower pace.