02/02/2026
Absolutely beautiful.
The forest says very little on the first morning of February, but something shifts.
Not in the branches or the air, but deep below—where the oldest movements begin.
It is said there is a being who wakes the roots each year, long before anyone notices the change. She is not seen, only sensed, moving through the underground like a slow pulse of light. Some call her a spirit of the deep wood; others say she is one of the ethereal feminine guides who walks with the earliest returning light.
Her work is simple. She touches the places where life has curled in on itself for the winter and gives permission to stir. Not to grow, not yet. Just to loosen. To breathe again.
It’s said she can only be felt in quiet moments—when you stand at the edge of a path and suddenly realize the ground beneath you is no longer fully asleep, or when something inside you shifts with the same quiet insistence.
Her presence on this day is a reminder that beginnings rarely arrive with fanfare.
They start in the dark, in the unseen, in the parts of us we haven’t checked on in a while.
If you feel anything today, a small clarity, a faint tug toward something new,
a softening in a place that’s been held tight, you have met her.
The one who wakes the roots.
She returns every February for one purpose:
to remind the deep world—and you—that waking begins quietly.
And that the first shift is almost always unseen.
~Kathleen
words & art
