The fragrance of spring is already in the air,
subtle yet sure.
January passed in a fit of gales, rain, and sleet with a rare moment of stillness. I have moved between resting and weaving – that delicate balance that is needed when creating something from the heart.
Winter has been extremely wet, windy, cold and damp in my part of the shire, and yet unnaturally warm at times. For most of this period, life has slumbered along beneath a suffocating blanket of grey. I’ve been tuning into my inner light in order to thrive, and when the sun is allowed to shine, I bathe in those nurturing rays.
The elements have been harsh through these long, dark days (a reflection of mainstream consciousness, perhaps?), but winter has its own song, and I’m reminded of these words by this pure poetic soul…
“It is a pleasure to a real lover of Nature to give winter all the glory he can,
for summer will make its own way, and speak its own praises.”
– Dorothy Wordsworth
Short journeys here and there and quiet moments spent in nature have proved uplifting and essential. Each one has brought a magical moment – the little owl posing for a photograph, a white horse standing proud beside an ancient oak, murmurations of starlings and lapwings, numerous hares crossing our path at dusk, rain-jewelled tree branches glistening in winter’s light…
I’ve continued to dance and write and sketch, and I’ve been singing, too, in a flurry of fearless and spontaneous creativity. This brings me joy.
The fragrance of spring is already in the air, subtle yet sure. The birds are more vocal. There are buds filling out on branches and green shoots emerging from still wet soil, and yet some flowers never stopped blossoming over this strange winter.
As I write, on this first day of February, the sky has cleared. I throw open the window, to let those rare rays enliven my spirit, and breathe. Life is beautiful.