I’m sitting here at my desk, gazing past my computer monitor at the view into my back garden. There’s a hot water bottle on my lap and occasionally I rest my hands on it so they can warm.
It’s cloudy outside, with very light showers starting. My weather app tells me it’s 9.3 degrees but ‘feels like’ 5.6 degrees. It’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon.
But I’m cosy here. How lucky I am to have a safe place to live and surroundings that nourish me.
Over the past few days, I’ve done a lot of clearing in my garden; heaping up the piles of leaves that have fallen from the deciduous trees and weeding those optimistic plants that have taken root in the soil without my permission. They don’t care about permission. Seeds are spread by birds and go through their life cycle wherever they are dropped.
It’s been therapeutic, clearing away the mess. It’s also been life-affirming since, under most piles of leaves, I’ve discovered bulbs emerging from the earth. Little surprise packages, shooting towards the light.
Winter is lovely here. We wanted to live in a place where there are distinct seasons and that’s come true. With all the anxiety I feel about the state of the world, our home and garden have become places of solace. Winter is about garnering strength for renewal and my garden affirms, yet again, that life will go on.