Author: headsquirrel

May I remember

“They are just around the corner,” my dear friend tells me as we head out on our walk. And there they are, the cherry trees in bloom. Their pink exuberance amazes me every time. A bee buzzes by and I smile. It is my first weekend away since our tiny unicorn was born and I try to soak in every minute of it. How easy it is to trace the same paths, day after day, wearing the groove deeper, until the rhythm of life feels less like a dance and more like a treadmill. I’d forgotten how vital it is to step away sometimes and let the wind carry you somewhere new. A line from the novel I was reading on the train earlier keeps popping up: “What is the one thing you can do right now instead?” I vow to let it inspire everything I do over the next couple of days. Tomorrow, I’ll take the long way home on my bicycle, veering down streets I’ve never noticed, go out and eat a pizza in the sunshine together for no reason at all and find a dandelion seed and blow a wish. Who knows, it might just be around the corner…

A season of change

As I look out across the open field, I notice a crow resting on a snow-covered branch. Their black feathers are drawn close against the cold, eastern wind. The air is so still it feels as though the world has fallen asleep. The moment invites me to pause and reflect on all that has changed this past year. We have settled into our new home by the sea. And here, in our forest dwelling, things have shifted too. The place beyond the pine tree has been given new caretakers and we find ourselves back on the hillside around the guardian oak. We are happy to be rooted again in the oak’s steady presence. Following the gentle rhythm of winter, we let our days unfold in gentle rituals. Reading by the window, knitting a scarf, drawing quiet creatures in the afternoon light. As I watch the crow take flight, I am reminded that you do not need to know what this year will bring. Let the wind blow as it may and trust yourself to be able to adjust your wings. You will find yourself where you are supposed to be.

Where roots grow

After ten weeks of renovating our new home, I finally unpacked the first boxes in my studio. I wanted it to be perfect, of course – fresh walls, warm light, everything in its place. But it isn’t. Some walls are still waiting for paint, the windows for curtains and the room for heating. My mum’s beautiful vintage bookcase is too tall and her wooden cabinet can’t make it up the stairs. And yet… there is so much to love already. An olive-green wall, bamboo beneath my feet and the hollyhock swaying in the wind beside our magnolia. The Monstera I once gave away, returned as a housewarming gift. My mum’s favourite knitted sweater folded over a chair. A simple trestle desk, pen and paper, my handmade books – all gathered in this sanctuary. A place where the world softens and I can listen to the whispers of my heart. Between my brushes, I found Vivian Greene’s words: “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain”. And I smiled, remembering: you don’t need to wait for perfect. You can dance right here… among half-painted walls, scattered boxes and the tender beauty of what already is.

Like the oak tree, we grow one layer at a time – gathering wisdom through our experiences and everyday adventures. These musings trace the artful life, and every ring tells its own tale: a moment held, a season turning, a dandelion seed carried on the wind. The story is still unfolding.

Magnolia dreams

As the magnolia is blossoming in all her pink beauty on our balcony, we’re dreaming of a place where she can put down roots. But where to find a new home where she could grow? Reading Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden, I suddenly have my answer. Just follow in Mary’s footsteps: go outside everyday and a friendly robin will show you the key. On one of my walks through the city, I stop by a large magnolia tree. It reminds me of the first time my mum and I saw a magnolia. “Isn’t this the most beautiful tree you’ve ever seen? How I would love to have a tree like this one day!” my mum had said. She never did have one in her hillside garden. So when it was time to bury her, I knew it would have to be in the serene place underneath the majestic magnolia, with the branches gently swaying in the wind above her. And so having one in our garden would be a beautiful way to honour her spirit. For now, I tell myself to be patient and trust that what you seek is also seeking you.