What we transport from winter to spring – The Good Trade

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By Webdesk


Where I grew up in the mountains of Northern California, spring was just a whisper. The few warm days we had in our small lakeside town were often fleeting, snatched away by late-season blizzards and snowy days that pushed back our school’s due date by several weeks. By the time the last snow finally melted, summer had come for good, warming skin and soil, making us forget how we ever got there.

It wasn’t until my twenties, when I lived in London, that I began to understand the importance of spring and its role as a season of transition in both nature and my own life. If you’ve ever been to London in April or May, you’ll see the cherry blossoms lining the streets, blooming with abandon and creating pink puddles across the city. They thrive against a dull sky next to flowering dogwoods and common Laburnum, also called “golden rain” – my favorite.

During those spring months when I lived in London, I found myself existing in an in-between moment. Winter was not completely gone, but its grip was weakened. The air was sweeter, but still cold. Space opened up for more sun, warmer winds and fresh perspectives, and what had been quieted rose to the surface again. With the promise of spring, everything seemed stronger and more beautiful.

I noticed that I existed in an in-between moment. Winter was not completely gone, but its grip was weakened.

I’ve found that spring is a reminder of what’s to come, but also what it takes to get there. During the winter months, so much happens in silence and secrecy: seeds burrow into the ground, trees go dormant before blooming again, a layer of ice hides the water beneath. But there is a purpose in these passive actions.

“Hibernate,” author Katherine May puts it, is an invitation to rest amidst our struggles and sorrows. “Winter is a time of retreating from the world, maximizing scarce resources, performing acts of brutal efficiency and disappearing from sight; but that’s where the transformation takes place. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible.”

May goes on to write: “Plants and animals don’t fight winter; they don’t pretend it doesn’t happen and try to keep living the same life they did in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through.”

We too experience winter as a season of metamorphosis in preparation for spring.

We too experience winter as a season of metamorphosis in preparation for spring. Sometimes the metamorphosis is grand and obvious, like the butterfly bursting out of its cocoon; other times the growth is subtle. It can look like small attitude changes and we may not even recognize the transformation we are undergoing. Even still – the rest we’ve taken and the hardships we endured all winter have changed us for the better. Spring reveals this. Winter was never the end; rather, it always led us here, to this moment and this place, to the vernal equinox and the first day of a new season. How we arrive is just as important as the arrival itself.

I no longer have the cherry blossoms to see outside my window, but I do have the warm Los Angeles air and fields of flowers that are especially vibrant after a rainy winter. For the first time in what feels like a long time, I notice the growth and unfolding in nature and my own life, like how good it feels to have the sun on my face and the birdsong in my ear after months indoors. It’s rejuvenating to open my windows and let the outside in after I’ve been away from it all – for reflection, for grieving losses, and for inner relaxation. Likewise, spring reminds me to appreciate who I’ve been through every season, without judgment and without criticism.

Spring reminds me to appreciate who I’ve been through every season, without judgment and without criticism.

Winter can feel impossible and exhausting. It can also feel restorative if we take the time we need to retreat and go within. Wherever you are, and however you enter this season, may it feel like you’ve come gasping for air. And may you welcome yourself with a gentle gesture and invitation to take small steps forward. Even when it’s still cold or dark, even with a final blizzard approaching, may this season be the warm reminder we all need:

Everything is always in transition and nothing lasts forever. For every winter there is spring.


Kayti Christian (she/her) is the editor-in-chief at The Good Trade. She has a master’s degree in non-fiction writing from the University of London and is the creator of Feelings not asidea newsletter for sensitive people.




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