I woke up this morning to this.
My immediate reaction was a full-blown toys out of the pram moment; a string of profanities and a declaration that we had been returned to winter. Or to ‘bloody f-ing winter’ if I am being wholly truthful. As most of you might have figured out by now, I only like a little bit of winter. The beginning of it. When the log fires and polar necks and stews are a novelty. When the dark mornings feel like a still welcome excuse to hunker back down. When the abundant energy of spring and summer feel like they have run their natural course and we need a dose of their opposite. When cosy still feels welcome. But not now. Not here. We have had enough of cosy. As Grayson Perry once responded when asked whether he liked the Swedish concept of ‘hygge’ - which is a more artistic version of cosy- he replied, yes, but only in relation to something else. It is more than time for something else.
In the Northern hemisphere we are on our upwards trajectory. This is not time for retrograde steps. And like an unreliable friend who has cancelled one too many times, this morning I felt thoroughly fed up with it all. Ready to cut ties. Only a step or two away from getting the packers in.
The child in me wanted to resist even getting up. This did not feel like a day to be seized. Better ignored in the hope that if I put my fingers in my ears and sang loud enough, it simply wouldn’t be there. The adult in me knew a bit better. Thankfully. One of the many benefits of ageing is an increasing ability to distinguish between wants and needs. So often confused, the former usually for the latter, it is helpful when we not only recognise the distinction but then act wisely, even determinedly upon it.
So I put on my walking boots, heart still wholly reticent, and found a raincoat. Added a hat because the rain had already begun, left both my dog and my phone behind, and went for a very long walk. I didn’t especially have the time to make it long - a Monday morning always has an insistence to it - but I chose a deliberately long route anyway. In meditation there is a golden moment at about the 8 minute mark, when all the competing voices and incessant chatter, that is the hallmark of every mind, starts to quiet down. A similar thing happens, I think, about a mile into a walk. When the symmetry of the steps takes over from the stories in our mind and we are lulled into less thinking. Into more looking. More listening.
And of course, it was nothing like winter out there. And it was beautiful. The landscape is on the cusp of being lush. The hedges are now almost completely coloured in, verdant green demarcations between parcels of also greening land. And all of it that hallucinatory green of early Spring, so vivid you’d be forgiven for thinking you are tripping. The trees too are in various stages of undress. Some are fully clothed, others less modest, and the beech - always so late to the party- still naked and statuesque and now standing out because of it. The clouds, which had blanketed the sky with a soft grey, had rendered the sun behind them into a perfect circle, glowing brighter than expected, as though it was still determined to announce itself. ‘Fear not, I am still here, I am still working my magic’, it seemed to say.
It is so easy, on days like this, to mistake the weather for the season, but everywhere spring was and is in abundance. In the birdsong, loud and everywhere, in the verges filled with welcome yellow catslip, in the scattering of bluebells and the lilac so now near to full bloom. But it was in more than just the look of the landscape that I found increasingly arresting, but the feel of it too. The forecast foretold of a day that would be gravitational but the earth felt anything but. And as it so often does, the longer I walked the more it lent me its feeling.
We know that time in nature is healing. Science has affirmed our instinct and has shown that to be outside pacifies overwrought nervous systems, alleviates low moods, bolsters the immune system and activates the senses. There is no mood that getting outside does not improve. To walk in nature, to immerse ourselves in her ever greening folds is as potent a tonic as anything a doctor might prescribe. And the rain, as this morning so aptly and necessarily reminded me, makes no dent in that medicine. As long as we don't let it stop us from getting out of bed.
Happy Earth Day to you all. If nothing else it is a day to remind ourselves of how necessarily tethered to mother earth we are and how much we always need her.
With love,
Nicole
PS
There is a saying that is often attributed to various Norwegians, that there is no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes. When it comes to price per wear, the cheapest thing I have ever gifted myself have been walking boots and a long and waterproof coat. And it took me a surpisingly long time to properly invest in either. It might feel a strange thing to be buying now, when sundresses and swimsuits feel like they should be more the order of the season, but anything that reduces resistance to being outside is a worthy investment in both body and, just as crucially, in mind. And a bit like buying camping gear in mid-winter, this is when you get the best deals on it all. I love all the aptly named RAINS coats, but these look similar, are on sale and have good eco credentials. As are a whole host of walking boots here. And for urban dwelling, these Aussie boots are highly recommended.
(And shhh, but a little part of me hopes/imagines that the very reliable ‘Sod’s Law’ will mean that once we all get fully kitted out for every weather eventuality, the sun will show its more constant face and all we’ll need- like our Southern hemisphere cousins - are a pair of these!!)
We have had to cover our plants for the last two nights in the North Carolina mountains because we have had freezing temperatures. I, too, am over winter and this is a blow after days of almost summer-like temperatures.
I must get a rain coat for walking. It rains a LOT here!
Lovely writing. ❤️