02/05/2026
Winter has a way of taking things from us.
Energy.
Hope.
Parts of ourselves that felt too tender to keep carrying.
We learn to survive by setting pieces of ourselves down.
Winter teaches us to grow quiet, to conserve, to do what is necessary to endure.
Now we arrive at the threshold between winter and spring, the hushed in-between. The snow has not yet melted.
Nothing is blooming. And yet, I feel something stirring.
This is not a time to rush forward,
but to turn back for what does not need to be left behind.
It is the season when the sun slowly returns, just as we are asked to return to ourselves.
The story of La Loba, the Wolf Woman, comes to mind—the old woman who walks the desert collecting bones,
gathering, listening, tending.
She sings life back into what others believed was finished.
La Loba is not only a myth.
She is a mirror.
What parts of me went quiet this winter?
What did I set down in order to keep going?
What is asking to be sung back to life?
This is a season for caring.
For placing a hand on the body and feeling where warmth still lives.
For breathing slowly and noticing what responds.
So often we are told to live in constant production, to bloom on command.
But the earth shows us, again and again,
that it does not work this way.
And neither do we.
This is the time to remember
the voice that grew quiet,
the tenderness that felt like too much,
the body that carried us through the dark.
Not to fix.
Not to force.
But to gather.
To tend.
To sing our song of life back into ourselves.
