January

Light.

Surfaces.

Winter air.

Nature.

The not rushing.

I observe the outside world while I stay still.

I love it here in the secret garden, where all I hear are birds, grasses, and the wind. It’s that kind of noise that lets my thoughts settle. Nothing asks anything of me.

If I sit still long enough, nature begins to accept me as part of the garden. Life continues. Birds come closer. I leave seeds and dried mealworms on the small roof of an old firewood shed. Trees are bare, and every movement is visible. Evergreen bushes offer shelter during long winter nights. That’s comforting. Some even have red berries. Ivy slowly grows over what was left behind. Nature reclaims what is forgotten. Sometimes gently, sometimes rough.

Christmas is slowly dissolving. We are putting it back into boxes until next year. This feels like a small grief. Not dramatic, just… hollow.

Winter shows its bare face.

Today it’s snowing after so many years. I know it won’t last long, so I enjoy every moment of it.

This is why days after holidays feel heavy.

The lights go off. The cheer subsides, and what remains is just the ordinary rhythm again. Bare and honest.

I notice the sadness coming over, and I let it be here.

It’s like winter without snow.

But I like to see how birds are doing. No matter the weather, they go on with their lives, they take what is offered, and somehow that grounds me.