The flower blooms in winter

Dear fellow travelers,

What has not yet come to be sometimes already contains everything within itself.

I went for a walk today.

And as is so often the case, I've noticed that as soon as I'm out in nature, something starts to speak.

Not loud. Not direct. But clear.

This time there were two swans. In a place where I never usually see them.

Then a crow joined them. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

A few geese followed shortly afterward.

The geese led the way.
The swans followed calmly.
The crow stayed on the shore.

And I thought: This is what living together could look like.

Everyone knows who he is.

The swans—calm, dignified.
The geese—loud, close-knit, on the move.
The crow—free, adaptable, straddling two worlds.

They were together. And at the same time, they were completely themselves.

A little further on, a man was walking toward me while talking on the phone. A husky was running beside him.

Again and again, the dog let out a soft howl. As if something inside him were responding. And for a moment, I saw the wolf in him. And at the same time: he wasn't in his territory.

Then I reached the magnolias. I leaned against a tree. And I cried.

Not because I was sad. But because I had just let go of something from the past.

And the new thing wasn't visible yet.

I looked at the buds.

They had already formed in the fall. And they had simply been waiting. All winter long. Quietly. Unremarkably. Almost no one sees them. And yet they already hold the entire bloom within them.

And I thought: It's exactly the same with us.

In the spring, everyone comes when it becomes visible. When it blooms. When it gets beautiful.

But winter...

Winter is quiet.
And honest.

The trees are bare.
And they reveal their structure.

What sustains.
What has grown weak.
What is allowed to go.

I get the feeling that very few people actually stay with this silence.

Not yet, in this case.

And at the same time, something genuine is emerging right there.

Maybe you've been there.

With love, right in the middle of this transition,
Jeannette