Winter’s Treasure
The past two days have been my first back at work in the garden this year. Having been struggling to adapt to indoor office work at the start of January, grappling to get to grips with the drawing board. I previously imagined a month of relentless rain and gales but recently the days have been crisp and cold and filled with sunshine.
Returning to the garden I am reminded of who I am; accompanied by the birdsong and the drumming of the woodpecker. My face presses into the elements, dampened by drizzle, dewy jewels bead and collect on my fluffy red hat. My soul sings with the late morning sunshine as it peels back the the cloud revealing pale blue sky above.
Afternoon air fills with wood smoke, a rural soundscape overlaid with the crackle and popping of embers. The heat of the bonfire warms my cheeks as we dance in and out, loading woody limbs onto a fiery furnace and there is something nostalgic and innocent in these moments; making me feel like a small girl at home in nature, giddy in the delight of such simple pleasures.
I frequently forget how much I love working outdoors. I’m busy dreaming of a more office based role in the hope of ‘progress’ I imagine the indoor office holds the keys to ‘success’.
But nature resonates with something at the core of my being. The sensation of wildness and oneness, the permission to be with no need to please. To bow gently like the trees to the rhythm of nature’s seasons finding myself at home within them, reassuringly reminded of my place within these cycles and learning to trust in the lessons of the ones ahead.
Savouring the chance to slow down at this time of year; the gentle lull, quietness before the spring time fever kicks in, catching hold and soaring to life into a frenzy of activity. This season’s slumber lasts fleetingly, if it can be called a slumber at all, maybe just a pausing and slowing of time, enough merely to reflect on a year gone by and to dare to gently shape a few dreams for the year ahead.
A Hamamelis blazes boldly in the garden, an astounding abundance of yellow spidery explosions and hazel catkins adorn bare stems like forgotten Christmas decorations that no one has taken down. Tiny green leaves are just beginning to part to reveal pearly snowdrops unfurling whilst the odd Rose flower hangs on, blooming resolutely its last showy statement before pruning.
