Snow and ice and mud cling to the forest floor as little feet run through it unsteadily. A cool breeze kisses our faces in between an unusual February warmth. The air is crisp and cool and warm and breathing. The trees wave to us as their bones creak and woodpeckers sing. A rebirth is blooming on the horizon. Spring is coming. A gentle warmth to wake us all from hibernation. A time to rejoice and sing with the birds and the flowers. A time to become and change and grow and bloom. Yes, bloom. Like little buds on branches, we need to bloom.
Winter is beautiful, don't get me wrong. But it's cold and dead. It takes slow breaths on a bed of fallen twigs and it awaits. Our relationship with nature is less. Always checking the weather app to see if it will be 20 degrees and snowing, 30 degrees and horribly windy, or 50 degrees and sunny. Everyday is a guessing game on whether we should bare the cold and go for a walk or if it will be nice and we won't have to second guess it.
I'm excited to see what the warmer weather brings us this year. He'll be two in two months and he's already changed so drastically from last year. Beach daze, water hole swimming, pools, parks, sand castle building, farm animals, ice cream, fairs, camping. He'll love every second of it (with a tantrum here and there, no doubt).
He's a wild, little, nature boy at heart.
Being confined by walls way too often in the winter, no matter how much I try to get us fresh air, never does good for his mood. Freedom, independence, and exploration are key ingredients to this boy. I'm always tipping over with wanderlust in winter so I'm right there with him. My need for a hike or a walk or even a simple stroll doesn't fare well with my dislike for the cold.
But it's almost over and our feet can touch the Earth again and the sun can brighten up our faces.