Lately, the days have felt unbearably slow—almost suspended in place. Sometimes it feels like a quiet routine on repeat: waking up, making my bed, and waiting for the day to pass, only to return to sleep again. The gray has lingered, heavy and persistent, and after weeks without sunshine, it’s easy for the heart to grow tired without even realizing it...
I feel like some sleepy beauty—moving slowly, resting deeply, waiting quietly for the light to return.
Dreaming with my garden brings some respite...
I’m already dreaming of spring. Of longer days and softer air. Of stepping into the garden with hope in my hands, imagining what might grow again. The soil doesn’t look alive yet, but I know better now—beneath the surface, everything is quietly preparing. And so am I. 🌱
In the meantime, I’ve created a little garden of my own inside the house—surrounded by plants and the things I love. I even made a small fountain, where real plants rest and water whispers softly, reminding me that life keeps flowing, even in winter.
But then, almost gently, the sun came back the other day. Not loudly. Not all at once. Just enough to remind the earth—and me—that warmth still exists. Its light touched the ground with a kind of pure delight, and somehow that same delight found its way into my heart through my eyes. I felt it before I could name it.
I will wait for warmer days… and I will trust the slow work happening beneath the surface, and I will stretch toward the light when it finally arrives.
No comments:
Post a Comment