Two weeks past the equinox and spring has resolutely taken over. I’ve been waking up with the sunrise the last few days, and it feels like a miracle to be able to start my day in the light, especially since I found and rehung an old crystal pendant in the window. Rainbows everywhere.
I’ve been rereading The Unwinding and other dreamings by Jackie Morris, which is as beautiful in its words as it is in its art.
She has not forgotten the time she was lost — how even while lost she refused to feel the fear, but instead saw only the green beauty of the wildwood, breathing deep the scent of trees, earth, lichen, moss.
—Shelter, the company of wolves, chapter nine
The whole book is a journey through your senses: feeling the whuff of a bear’s hot breath on your cheek, seeing the sharp glimmer of moonlight off sky-fish scales, lying amidst the warm bodies of foxes. Find it here.
Spring is also a time I become especially susceptible to gratitude attacks, and this year feels more poignant than ever. Hot water at the turn of a tap, grocery stores with full shelves, and just the pure, guilt-tinged safety of being here on the West Coast.
If you can, support Ukraine through Choose Love, or if you’re a fellow Canadian, through the Canada-Ukraine Foundation.
And finally, for those who want to exercise their thoughts and pens:
Letting in the light:
Sit somewhere comfortable with your favourite writing implement and a notebook. Close your eyes (once you’ve read this paragraph through) and imagine you’re in absolute darkness. Breathe there for a minute or two, feeling the edges of the black surrounding you. Does it feel like you’re in a tight space? Or does the dark expand off into the distance? Do you hear anything? Feel anything? Explore the space through your senses as you breathe.
Write what you feel.
Then, focus on a single point in front of you, and imagine the barest pinprick of light emerging from the dark. Gradually it grows larger, and closer, and brighter, until it illuminates the space you’re in.
Write what you see.