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  • Jenny

A Season of Promise*

Updated: Jan 27, 2021

Every season that I experience here is my favorite season. I love the aliveness of Spring, the sultriness of Summer, the magnificence of Autumn and now I am fully engrossed in the silence and possibilities of Winter. Being this immersed to nature and feeling her pause, take a step back to relax and rest, is a powerful reminder to do the same. After the trees have let go of their leaves, what is there for them to do? From what we can see, the bare, grey trunks and branches, the tree appears dormant and lifeless, but beneath the surface the root systems are seeking out nutrients while the branches are soaking in the sun, there is still so much happening but it’s less showy, more inward. A time of preparation, a time of rest, a time to recharge from all the flowering and bursting forth and being the best they could be. Now is their time to go inward, to slowly utilize that which they have stored up to get them through this time of less sunlight, of more darkness, of cold and quiet. They are nurturing themselves and taking care so they can show up magnificently again in the Spring.

I am following nature’s lead and resting more than usual. Trying to remain productive, but also recognizing that in order to be my best later this year, I need to take care of myself during this more quiet season. I’ve been sleeping more - just like Sunny. I’m moving at a slower, more deliberate pace - because of the cold, I can’t just dash outside in my flip flops. I need to layer up, lace up my boots, find my hat and gloves, zip the enormous winter coat and then stumble the whole situation out the door. And once I’m outside, the ice and snow require walking more slowly, looking where you step, placing your boots down carefully. I’m sitting by the fire, getting lost in the dancing flames and daydreaming. I’m being patient and thoughtful in imagining what it is that I can bring forth, what I am called to contribute to make this world a better place.

The quiet and slowness of the season allow me to listen to myself more. To look within for guidance instead of looking for answers outside of myself. There is less to look at outside - a gorgeous palette of grey and white, with a background of blue on a good day - but the greyness of the trees allows them to fade to the background. The stillness and silence in the air - no bees buzzing, no butterflies flitting, less birds chirping - makes it easier to listen within. Less distractions - except of course the many I create for myself! - and plenty of quiet space to listen. Writing, meditating, studying, dreaming. Less time on the phone scrolling and forcing my little brain to take in that overwhelming amount of information flying past my eyes, and more time writing, planning my dream garden full of veggies and beautiful herbal allies, plotting out the next moves with the business, dreaming of what’s to come and who I can serve. How I can share the magic of this place. The possibilities are endless. See you on the other side.

* title borrowed from a beautiful plant book I'm perusing lately called A Season of Promise: Wild Plants in Winter, Northeastern, United States by June Carver Roberts

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