Every morning I walk into the garden and lean over the dark earth, waiting for the buds of my winter work to show. I talk to those tulips and crocusses, daffodils and buttercups, roses and lavender, trying to coax them into growth and bloom, hoping they’ll follow with abandonment.
I should do the same with me. Especially the part about abandonment.
Transitions are aplenty in these parts, so much so that I am starting to think my word for the year, gentleness, was a wrong pick. But then I realize that with so much change around me, so much promise, but also so much fear, I won’t survive without gentleness towards myself and everyone around me.
My work is picking up speed. I’m deeply immersed in matters of peace and war, again, and will remain so for the next couple of weeks. At the same time, I’m working on that little thing I’m cooking up for you and me, a tiny thing of ordinary beauty that will bring fun and light into my life and yours, I hope.
I have been quiet over here, I know. Bear with me, I will come around.