Slow & Simple Moments | 02.25

Enveloped in a grey heaviness, February has been a gloomy month, yet there are glimmers of warmth, colour and sunshine on the horizon, as we edge ever further towards the gateway to spring.

Feb 23, 2025

Welcome to Rediscover · Reconnect · Re-Emerge. If you find the fleeting changes of modern life wearisome, maybe even overwhelming, join me on a journey, a path well-trodden, as I share heartfelt and often nostalgic reflections on living slowly, simply, and in tune with the seasons.

In this series, I share some of the things I’ve been getting up to, places I’ve been, and other beautiful and special slow and simple moments from the past month.

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Let’s be honest, February has been a pretty grey month. It has weighted heavily on the mind and soul, like gazing into a gaping cavern in which we hope to find treasure, yet find nothing. The days seem to have rolled one into another, a heavy, grey nothingness hanging over us. Somehow, those bright spring-like days of late-January seem to have been sidelined in favour of a liminal space which feels like neither winter nor spring. In periods such as this, it’s hard not to feel a little worn down, frayed around the edges, and more than a bit pessimistic. However optimistic we try to appear, we are easily and understandably found retreating once more.: one step forward, two steps back. If the perpetual greyness has been getting you down, then you might find some comfort and encouragement in this post from

Victoria

and this one from

Clare Louise Larkin

Amidst the greyness, there are glimmers of something brighter on the horizon. The evenings are becoming lighter; where back in the dark days of December, we drew the curtains at 4pm, they can comfortably let some light in until 6pm. The mornings are brighter too, the chilly sunrise echoed in the expectant and hopeful birdsong which fills the air. In fairness to the weather, we have had some warm, bright sunshine too, but by this point in the season, I think we’re all hoping for something more.

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February 2025

I’ve seen February described as a liminal month, that is occupying a position at a boundary or threshold. With spring on the horizon, a season of rebirth and new life, we’re not just thinking about the weather. We’re thinking about the future too. Which seeds might we plant this spring? The seeds we plant now will be those we nurture and tend in the months to come, that in the fullness of time, we might reap what we’ve sown. Soon, we will prune the roses in the garden, because despite the new growth already appearing, in cutting back now, we will enjoy an even more spectacular display of glorious blooms in the late-spring and summer.

What seeds are you looking forward to sowing as we cross the threshold into spring?

What might you need to prune now in order to reap even greater rewards in the seasons to come?

I’ve written recently about our ever-present quest to explore what home might mean to us, and where we might find our own homecoming. With that in mind…

Where might we seek our own homecoming as we tentatively peep through the gateway into spring?

Here are some of my slow and simple moments from February. I hope they might inspire and encourage you to seek out your own in the months to come.

Warm Sunshine

I know what you’re thinking, but we have had a couple of beautiful, sunny, spring-like days this month. In a month of heavy greyness, these were very welcome, and certainly nourishing for the soul. Somehow, when it’s been especially gloomy, the sunshine seems to permeate even deeper into our souls. We drink it up in hopeful expectation of brighter days to come. Suddenly, the daffodils around the cathedral came to life, the sky was a deep blue, and birds burst into song. We hope, of course, that these were a taste of what’s to come, and in the world as it is, and with the hopeful season of spring just round the corner, we hold close these glimmers of light.

Have you enjoyed any spring-like days this month where you are?

Kindness

Moments of kindness are often few and far between these days, something I wrote about previously here:

‘Often, we’re not always very good at saying “thank you”. I don’t mean those simple thank yous for holding the door open or letting someone pass (although some people aren’t good at those either), but those heartfelt “thank yous” which someone will treasure. How often do make space to thank those who have had the greatest impact on our lives? When do we find an opportunity to thank those who’ve inspired us most on our journey?’

A few weeks ago, a pile of post plopped through the letterbox - a rare thing these days - but on closer inspection, it was all for a house in the next road but with the same number. Having delivered it to its correct home, we were surprised when a lady appeared the next day bearing a bunch of daffodils and eternal thanks. Her husband had just died, and she’d been waiting for documents and passwords in the post so that she could begin putting his affairs in order. Little acts of kindness, and indeed, of thanks, are to be cherished in a dark world. Something which seems simple to us can have a huge impact on others.

Who might you thank in the days ahead?

Which little acts of kindness could you show?

Snowdrops

Despite the February gloom, the snowdrops have thrived. Somehow, these late-winter visitors are one of our most hopeful signs that a new season is around the corner. Their bobbing little white heads seem to appear from the ground as if from nowhere, yet quickly, they carpet woodland floors, paving our way towards spring. It’s not just woodlands too, they seem to pop up everywhere these days, even in the garden, yet somehow, just as with the bluebells to come, we look forward to those vast swathes of colour and hope which shelter beneath the towering trees. If the trees could speak, perhaps they might say “we’ve got your back”.

Have you enjoyed finding any snowdrops this month?

I look forward to seeing which slow and simple moments March will bring. Why not let me know in the comments some of your special moments from the month of January.