Signs of Spring: Noticing the Changes of the Season
Brent Unrau is the former board chair of SoulStream. He lives in community at Kingfisher Farm in South Surrey, BC, where daily life keeps him close to the rhythms of the land. While helping out on the farm, he is surrounded by towering cedar and fir trees that have been left to grow freely on the property.
Brent writes:
Just a few weeks ago this is how the back pond looked at Kingfisher Farm in South Surrey, B.C.
The poem “Chiaroscuro” by Alix Klingenberg in her book Quietly Wild, resonated with me:
The snow lining the branches is white
charcoal on a gray background,
natural chiaroscuro.
I am taken into the arms of those black limbs
rising stark against the flat winter sky.
The window is a photograph
enlarged with dust left on the negative, and
everything is suddenly timeless.
Late January is such a slender feast,
a monochrome visage
of stillness.
And then February arrived along with the Celtic holiday of Imbolc (not my favourite word to pronounce, it sounds like something Gollum from Lord of the Rings would say in his deep-throated way).
Imbolc gets its name from the Old Irish words that meant “in the belly.” It is the midway point between the Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox and points to the deep softening and gentle warming of mother earth as more and more light returns. All of this invites an anticipation of spring even if we can’t see it or prove it. It is a holiday of waiting, being patient with the unfolding of winter, not rushing spring, not ruing the stubborn coldness but living deeply with the slow process of change, trusting the truth to be revealed in time.
During Imbolc, the Earth is taking its beautiful time and inviting us to do the same. (The Wheel of the Year: An Illustrated Guide to Nature’s Rhythms, Fiona Cook-Jessica Roux) I am left with this question: can I relax in this transition season, trusting that things will fall into place (whatever that might mean and look like) in the fullness of time?
I went out to the pond today and this is how it looked. Wow, what a change a few weeks can make. It is 12 degrees today, and new bird-sounds can be heard, and a few shrubs are full of bursting buds. More and more I am so moved by how the changing landscape with its seasonal changes holds me, invites me, and assists in my own season of change, loss, and growth. What a wonder-filled dance to be a part of, not separate from.
The following prayer was shared with me by my Soul Friend (anam cara) last week.
I wonder where it will take you? It assisted me in giving names to a few tender hopes that are tucked away deep in the mid-winter soil of my life.
I felt a bit shy and tentative to name them, own them, but as I did slowly and carefully, there was this abundant, supportive goodness that showed up to hold and treasure them with me.
I wonder what fires, dreams and tender hidden seeds are being cared for and nourished in you in the invisible richness of this season?
Take some time outdoors in your backyard just to listen, attune, and ponder.
Naming what is being birthed in you by the Lover and Good Giver of life.
An Imbolc prayer by Jess Gareth
The stirs of life are always moving,
awakening beneath the surface.
SHE calls us to listen—
to the seeded readying,
the inner growth stirring within this body.
Help us to see and soften
any holding patterns, any holding places that resist the emergence
of these intelligent arrivals.
Help us place our listening ears and heart upon HER sacred ground, to hear beyond what is known, to feel the rhythms of what are readying us.
We are the fire being tended.
We are the seed being supported.
We are the growing catalyst,
and SHE is the guiding force of love
that settles us in our seat—
long enough to remember,
strong enough to attune.
In HER soft reassurance,
we are held.
We make space.
We birth the energy of this new season.
We are here.
We are listening.
Thank you Brent for reminding us to pay close attention to the burgeoning new life – without AND within. Maybe not as dramatic here in the Lower Mainland of BC as it was for us over the years in Quesnel – just earlier here, although just as beautiful here (maybe even a little bit more).
I really liked the poem “Chiaroscuro”. This line reminded me of the window art which has drawn your fascination over the years: “The window is a photograph enlarged with dust left on the negative, and
everything is suddenly timeless.”
We need windows into the beauty without just as we need “windows into the soul” to see the beauty within ourselves and those we encounter in our lives.
Thank you for sharing about this holiday and encouraging me to name hidden hopes!