It’s funny to be writing this to you as the snow still falls and we have about two feet on the ground—I know that part of March is still Winter, but these late-season storms always throw me off. It’s funny, I adore this kind of weather for no other reason than it fills me with magic.
But I can sense the little green buds eager to make an appearance, and the frozen earth dreaming of warmth only a Spring sun can give. I see the way my skin longs for the shade of the apple tree, basking in the speckled light of the longer days.
Seasons leave me in awe. The way they transition from one thing to the next, as if it know that the only way is to lead with example. With Fall, reflect, and Winter? Rest, deeply and fully, and as we move into Spring, lean into your instincts and allow yourself to change and take on a whole new form; we may have the expectations of the past year still rooted in our being, but we also have the ability to start anew, no matter how we’re feeling or what we’re facing.
Summer is limitless and open, ready for this new form.
There is also an expectation that comes with a new season. A feeling that you might not have done enough to ready yourself for it. A feeling that whatever work or reflecting or resting you feel you have done, it wasn’t enough and the things you’re having to face are far greater than you ever imagined.
This might sound obvious and a bit silly, but we haven’t lived this moment before, so whatever you think you need to be or do or say, know that those feeling that are bubbling to the surface are only ties to weeks, months, and years before; we don’t have to let go of them fully, but we do have the power to move through them, reshaping and making space where fear and doubt once lived.
I don’t expect it to ever be straightforward, or to reach a season and think, “this is it! I’ve so got this now.” Expecting such a thing would be absurd, but funnily enough, I do. I do expect myself to figure it all out. To have it all together. To make sense of the things that were never mean’t to make sense.
And I feel that weight, especially as a new season rolls around. So as the snow melts and I do begin to see those little green buds poking up through the earth, I hope to remain curious to what I don’t know and what I might never figure out.
I hope to dig those roots deep and use them to balance myself as I fall off kilter.
I hope to be ok with never having it figured out, but remaining in awe of it all, regardless.
It’s good to have you all here! If you haven’t noticed already, there’s a meditation waiting for you on our dashboard (created by Annie from the incredible resource, Heal With You, where healing starts, with you), something we will be implementing in monthly (such a treat), so do go give it a listen and let us know what you think.
The wind carves every sprig of new color
and the lingering frost against the warmth,
is eager to hold on
preparing the small plant
for hardships it does not know.
Eager to stay rooted in this earth
to soak in the experience around it’s soft leaves,
while always, and even if unintentionally, reaching.
Reaching up, to where the tree tops kiss the sky
and the sun dazzles the air.
Curiosity pushes it further against the harsh wind,
“dig your roots deeper,” it says.
“stand up tall against the weather.”
And when you wilt?
When you fall?
Wind your roots around and around,
further into the soil and ground.
Oh little lavender,
we are more alike than you might think.
So, do not envy the sights from up here
as the longing to reach higher never slows
and the view from where you stand?
It is a place I hope to one day know.
Oh little lavender,
our perspective may differ,
but our mutual curiosity never wains.
So, let us whisper secrets of our world,
so that one day, we might see the same.