As our awareness of the climate crisis deepens, our relationship with the earth matters – maybe more than ever.
In the privileged bubble of the global north, we’ve been insulated for decades from the impact our lifestyles have had on the land around us.
Now, as the consequences of unfettered consumption and resource exploitation are revealed, it’s easy to sink into hopelessness. Broken-heartedness. Despair.
In these dark days for the planet, I believe it’s imperative that we find our way back to the deep connection with our earth that our ancestors once felt.
Realigning with the seasonal shifts is the key to remembering our resilience, our ability to weather change and process cycles of emotion – and to restore a simpler, kinder way of living to replenish what we can of the wild planet.
I’d love to help you tap into the perspective our bodies remember and our anxious minds crave. The landscape of the year, the wide horizon of each moment, the wisdom of the cycle of the seasons.
You can start by signing up for Letters from the Land. Free, reflective emails every full and new moon – just enter your details below to start receiving yours.
Paying attention to the cycle of the seasons means recognizing that you are not the axis around which the world turns.
What sweet relief that awareness brings.
You are a part of the earth’s motion, pulled by its momentum, tugged by the tide and the moon.
Circadian rhythms flow like forgotten rivers through your veins.
We wax and wane, we ebb and flow, though we have forgotten what that means, mostly.
If we allow ourselves to notice, we can learn to feel those pulls once more.
I don’t think paying attention to the natural world should be the preserve of environmentalists or scientists. In fact, I think it is our duty as conscious human beings to see what is happening around us, and learn what it means.
My connection with the seasons deepened when I stopped seeing it as a pageant laid on for me to take notes on, or a wrathful entity to be feared or protected… and started experiencing myself as a part of it.
Began to notice the way my own moods and anxieties and joys played like clouds across the landscape, the way my life bloomed and bore fruit and stilled and shrivelled, one after the other, ever-shifting.
As I learned more, I have grown convinced that in order to become seasoned: to mature, ripen, or condition, we must first learn what the seasons we are living in have to teach us.