Spring finally arrived and it has been so dang frenetic and my still winter-paced body has been in overwhelm. The season was a good three weeks later than last year, as evidenced by my camera roll, with cool mornings and cold rains and lots of mud lingering well past the “April Showers” phase. The greens, as if suddenly alert to the change, are verdant, vivacious, vivid, and a full thesaurus of vibrant adjectives. Then there are the blossoms, the birds and all the wildness of this burgeoning season in full glory. It is so alive. And it isn’t that I don’t appreciate walking in the sunrise light and not having headlight-glare driving in the early evening hours. But, as I noted recently to a friend, as this season of flowing is upon us, I have felt more like ebbing. Finding stillness in the eruption of Spring energy can be challenging. Perhaps I should contact my Aussie friends and go to the Southern Hemisphere for a few months. A recent unseasonable heatwave has compounded the urgency in the air as if proclaiming “Summer is already here!” I haven’t even come on board with Spring. Sigh.
Autumn Newsletter: Footfalls on the Journey--Nature's Call to Be Still
Autumn arrived later than usual in the Pacific NW. It was late October, well after the equinox, before the rains arrived and the temperatures dropped. Mid-October and I was at a pumpkin patch event in short sleeves and it was over 85º. It felt disconcerting. Even the jack-o-lanterns looked puzzled. The fire danger lingered and the multiple fires that were already raging turned our air quality numbers dismal. Sure the days were shortening, offering a respite from the heat, but my memories of times past where not aligning with the present.
Lessons from the Pandemic: You Cannot Fail at Grief
They are back! Crickets’ evening chirping filling every crevice of air from twilight to well after moonrise. Softening as night deepens. It soothes me. The heat of summer has waned for now and fans are off. The constant whirl of blades and the clicking on/off of my portable A/C (to which I offer copious gratitude) entered my inner world as invader not kin. The return of the crickets offers a reminder. Reminder that this long, hot, dry season is moving forward toward autumn, my favorite season.
The unfolding of seasonal change. The monthly moon cycle. Visiting the Oregon Coast and watching the daily ebb and flow of the tide. This is the medicine I need—the reminder that time continues to weave a story beyond my own. Nature helps me step outside my story. Shift perspectives. Return to gratitude. I didn’t realize how much I needed that reminder.
Lessons from the Pandemic: Lamenting & Gratitude Arise Out of the Same Heart
I love this time of year. The Winter Solstice arriving in less than a month in the Northern Hemisphere. Long nights sometimes crisp with stars and haloed moon. At other times heavy and dangerous in fog. Layers of clothing donned for outings…or even to work at home, cocoon me. Bare-limbed trees holding empty nests seem vulnerable. Low-sky sun barely warms Earth.
The other day when I began my pre-dawn ritual, readying for a walk, I checked in with my body, and it asked ever so sweetly if it could crawl back beneath the covers and rest. A mini-hibernation. My morning walks are part exercise and part meditation, so I am reluctant to miss them. The morning wasn’t rain-soaking or freezing or blustery—a ready excuse. Actually, it would have offered a seductive sunrise. I didn’t argue though. I listened, hibernated, drifting into my imaginal world if only for two extra hours.
