Winter, Hibernation and Answers in the Dark

Winter, Hibernation and Answers in the Dark

As the days darken and the leaves fall slowly to the ground, we slow. As those crisp autumn colours mute and fade to that deep brown, tinged with those sparkling diamonds of frost, it is time to settle. As deadlines ramp up before the winter holidays, as shops open longer and fill themselves with bright colours, listen to that quiet pull in the opposite direction. To sit on freezing ground, to breathe in thin, sharp air, and feel the insistent tug towards the dark. Peeling layers away, finding truth hiding in that instinctual part of ourselves, that quiet tide of back and forth, back and forth that roots us with a strength beyond knowledge. To walk the way of the old ones. To let go and wait for the warmth to return, in months ahead, with the deep knowledge that it will, as always. The circle in all. So for now, we still.

The darkness is the beginning and the end. For now, listen and slow and gather the last. The space and silence to review, to bury seeds deep in loam, to breathe out and let go and trust in the future of those small shoots. Be as the trees, letting leaves fall to nourish new growth in spring.

I make tincture from berries gathered in autumn, to see through the darker months. I leave jars of water out in moonlight, and dance in the falling Birch seeds that carpet the ground like snowfall, revelling in the quiet pitter patter as they drop from drooping branches, as my friend Birch settles into winter, too, silver bark echoing the moonlight illuminating the valley. I slow and sleep and settle. It has not always been easy, fighting the unrelenting consumer season, the workload, the part of me that wants to exist solely in the highs of summer. But there are answers in the dark, and to hear them, I must follow those old footprints across frozen moorland, deep into earthy forests where secrets are whispered on the freezing winds.

As the last leaves fall from the trees we live alongside, I know a few things I need to lay down alongside them. To let myself breathe. To loosen the grip on relentless pursuit, and listen instead. To watch, and ask, and hear the answers. To let things just be, to follow curiosity, to accept. And so, I lay these things in the falling leaves, to rot, to transform, to bring nourishment in future times.

So for now, the blog silences as I work on finishing my PhD. To hide and hibernate as a seed in the loam, to return when my brain has capacity. I bury this space, this potential, and wait. Soon, it will grow again. A leaf, to earth, to roots, to those small buds of spring. The wheel will turn.