Winter is notoriously difficult for me.

Maybe it’s the lack of sun. Or the lack of green. Or the lack of warmth. I’m not really sure. I just know it’s hard.

I want to hunker down. Hibernate almost. Curl into a ball, cover myself with a warm quilt. Wake me when the sun comes out and the earth turns green. Wake me when the birds are chirping and the buds are forming. Wake me when the dismal days gradually turn to spring; when life begins to blossom; when there’s a new season on the horizon.

Maybe this is instinctual. A cyclical mechanism built in me to honor the passing of time. Maybe this is meant to be a time to hunker down. A time to withdraw. A time to turn inward; to set intentions; to dream of the spring yet to come.

I’m not really sure.

All I know is that yesterday I saw green. Cleavers and chickweed, henbit and shepherd’s purse and my heart smiled. I could almost smell spring. It’s only January so I know there is still time. Time for the overcast days of winter to linger. Time for life to rest. Time for withdrawing and waiting and dreaming.

But yesterday was a little seed of hope in my heart for the days to come.

And while hope may not be a strategy, it is often enough to feed the heart. Soul food so to speak. And I’m devouring as much as I can.


Sometimes it takes a little patience.

Some waiting around.

A little courting (in this case in the form of tickling).

A little more waiting.

A little coaxing. Kind words. Patient words.

A lot more patience.

And then suddenly…

she pops her head out and you decide it was worth it.

The waiting. The kind words. The gentle coaxing. The art of patience.