Note from Me: A Quiet Awakening at the Spring Equinox

Lately, winter has asked me to slow down more than I expected.

For the past several weeks, my whole family and I have been sick. It happens. Even when you live a holistic lifestyle, sickness is still part of life. Supporting your body, nourishing your immune system, and caring for your health does not mean you will never get sick again. It simply means your body may recover more gently, and sometimes more quickly.

Still, the last stretch of winter can feel heavy.

By this time of year, I often feel the season deep in my bones. The lack of sunlight, the long months of cold, the stillness of winter — it all accumulates quietly. Energy feels lower. Inspiration can feel a little further away. The end of winter has always been a delicate threshold for me.

And to be honest, I am not someone who eagerly counts the days until spring arrives. For me, spring also means seasonal allergies, muddy landscapes, and a chaotic transition between seasons.

But something interesting happens about a month before the spring equinox.

Almost imperceptibly at first, nature begins to shift. The sunset lingers a little longer. The air softens. The light changes in a way that is difficult to explain but easy to feel.

And our bodies notice.

I don’t suddenly feel energized. If anything, I often feel a strange combination of restlessness and lingering fatigue. But beneath that tiredness, something begins to move again.

A quiet longing for what is coming.

I start craving fresher foods, different teas, new flavors after months of heavier winter nourishment. Slowly, creativity begins to return in small sparks.

Nothing dramatic. Just enough to notice.

And that is how I know spring is somewhere nearby.

And now we are very close to the spring equinox.

I can almost feel my life force beginning to move again, like the sap slowly rising inside the trees.

We are standing right at the threshold.

I’ve learned not to force renewal during this time. More than ever, I try to listen carefully to my body. The in-between seasons — the transitions — are often where it is easiest to lose balance. We are no longer fully in winter, but we are not yet truly in spring either. For the body, it can feel confusing.

So this is a moment when I choose to offer myself deeper love, deeper compassion, and a more attentive connection to my body.

I listen more closely, because the body is always telling us something.

Right now, mine is telling me that energy will begin to flow again — but not quite yet.

It is still a time to rest.

The dreams we quietly planted during winter — during our own wintering — are just beginning to stir beneath the surface. Outside, the plants are doing the same. Nothing in nature suddenly bursts into life overnight. Growth happens slowly, almost invisibly at first.

And then, before we know it, everything changes.

The snow will melt. The soil will soften. The garden will be waiting.

I find myself dreaming about that garden already.

I imagine the colors I want to bring into the space this year. I’ve always loved medicinal herbs, of course, but I also love filling the garden with flowers — dahlias, zinnias, cosmos dancing in the summer air.

Right now I’m beginning to plan what I might plant, what new companions might grow there. Mullein may become one of my herbal allies for next winter, and I already look forward to watching it grow.

Planning the garden fills me with quiet excitement.

But it also reminds me of something important.

A garden is something to be envisioned and prepared for — not something to be rushed.

And perhaps the same is true for this seasonal transition.

If you want to explore how I approach wintering and reflection, you can read my previous Note From Me: A Wintering Heart article.

And now we have arrived at the spring equinox — that brief and beautiful moment of perfect balance between light and dark.

In many ways, the same balance is happening within us.

Just as the earth finds equilibrium between day and night, we are invited to balance our own darkness and our own light. To honor our rhythms exactly as they are in this season of our lives.

Because seasons move quickly. Before we know it, spring will turn to summer, and eventually winter will return again.

So I try to enjoy every small moment of sunshine when it appears.

Just before writing this article, the day had grown surprisingly warm. When I stepped outside, I noticed a small patch of grass in the garden where the snow had finally melted. Without thinking too much about it, I slipped off my shoes and placed my bare feet on the ground.

The earth was still cool, but alive.

And somehow, in that simple moment, I felt a quiet surge of energy move through me.

When I think about the spring equinox, this is what it means to me.

A quiet moment of balance — like every solstice and equinox — a pause that invites reflection. A gentle threshold between rest and action. A subtle awakening.

Not a dramatic beginning, but a permission to return to life the same way nature does.

Slowly.

So as this new season begins, I hope you will take good care of yourself. Plant the seeds you hope to see blooming in the months ahead, but do so with patience. Respect your body. Honor your light. And, whenever you can, step outside and reconnect with the living world around you.

Spring will unfold in its own time.

And so will we.

With love,

Nancy