I’ve been quiet for a moment, on these weekday newsletters.
A season of soul searching you could say, or learning not to feel overwhelmed by adult responsibilities. I’m learning what it’s like to exist in my 30s.
I didn’t want to go quiet for so long, so, today, I share a light-filled note on Spring.
I look out the window, the birds are composing
Not a note is out of tune or out of place
I walk to the meadow and stare at the flowers
Better dressed than any girl on her wedding day
So why should I worry?
Why do I freak out?
God knows what I need
You know what I need
Your love is, Your love is, Your love is strong
—Your Love Is Strong, Jon Foreman
This song by Jon Foreman has been dear to my heart since I first heard it when I was 18. “…the birds are composing not a note is out of tune or out of place” I remember how mesmerized I was when I heard this line. I’ve been listening to birds differently since then.
Not a note is out of tune or out of place. Like time, perfectly placed, not late or too early; just right. Spring, to me, tells the story of time.
I’ve always felt quite linked to nature. I’m a Taurus sun, a Virgo moon, and a Capricorn rising—an astrological earthy trio could be the cause. Or, perhaps, it’s the sensitive traits of my brain, who find comfort in flowers and birds and the stars.
When I was young, I used to play outside, making different salads out of the grass. I enjoyed this over playgrounds. I pretended to have a horse in the backyard, and took my friend to meet it while making neighing sounds. I had a CD for my PC about bird species. I used to draw trees in my high school sketchbooks (many of them) and wrote about the ocean. I’d find comfort looking at the stars.
I still find comfort in the stars.
This connection grounds me. Paying attention to nature is like listening to a friend when I need advice. I can hear Spring whisper, I can hear her sing. She reminds me of patience, of perfect timing, of notes not out of tune. When I fear the unknown, when I doubt if something will ever get better, Spring speaks. A flower always blooms after winter. The trees awake, with a little sun and a little rain.
To be patient for what will be, while finding joy in the knowns and the unknowns of what is. Sometimes I wish growth weren’t so. I like control, and I like knowing everything. But, I also like mysteries. I like rhythm and motion and beauty. And I think beauty is just this, being a part of a slow, moving story. Nature reminds us of this.
We exist not to be stagnant. The earth is not still, it is always moving. Did you see the eclipse?
“If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.”
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll be this way forever, if I’ll be here, with the same limitations, and struggles, for years. But with this Spring, I listen. Just as I did with Winter.
We grow like the trees, like the flowers. Slow, some things hidden, we move with time. In rhythm with the seasons. Even in the stillness, I am growing.
Wherever you may be today, tonight, tomorrow, you’re doing your best and I’m proud of how far you’ve come. It’s not easy being human, but you’re not alone in this process of learning how to exist. I’m learning with you, growing with you. Along with everyone—and everything—that surrounds you. Every new flower, with each new Spring, experiences this life for the first time. We are all learning.
How beautiful and comforting.
I like taking photos of flowers, so I end with these photos taken on my phone, from over the years.