With Kind Hands

Microseason No. 16, April 20-24

Inside the forest-house,

we find the Maker sitting

by the hearth, stitching a quilt

of the year, patiently

with kind hands.

A page from my sketchbook. Just a playful experiment in mixing watercolors to see if I can match a fiddlehead fern.

It’s early spring now in the forest—microseason #16 to be exact—and the wildflowers and ferns have returned suddenly, with great velocity. What a relief to see them again—everywhere!—shy and newborn, breaking through the forest floor and trembling in the breeze. I’ve been walking in thankfulness and trying to remember all the beautiful names: Trout Lily, Spring Beauty, Sweet Betsy, Blood Root…

Each wildflower

makes its own light.

Tiny lanterns lit from within.

This year, winter seemed very long to me. I was afraid the flowers might have fallen asleep for good, snug under their blanket of leaves, dreaming and forgetting about the ecstasies and perils of the modern world—just as we all would love to do sometimes. It’s not easy to keep showing up, risking the ever-present trials of this life.

oh, please keep showing up.

I find comfort in the knowledge that every one of us gets lost sometimes. It’s human nature to feel separate from the Whole. Malaise. Mission-drift. And yet, how good it feels to find our way back again. We ache for the solace of the natural world—and get to discover it in new and deeper ways!

Yes, there will be lost times in the wilderness—

but it doesn’t mean that you are not loved.

I try to let the compass of the microseasons restore a sense of order to the wild pathways of my mind. It’s a practice that also calms the soul by its predictable rhythms and focus on beauty.

My Friend, look up and see how the Artist is perpetually composing a song for you—right now, in this tiny window of Time—painting the sky with neon leaves, working to make the world new and fresh and surprising over and over again. Listen and look. And if you find yourself in a particularly difficult season—as I am right now—demand the evidence of this ancient love. See what is shown to you.

Here’s a recent example from one of my hikes: Tree Eclipse

Another example: Wild Red Bud trees—their flowers always arrive in a sudden floral eruption, bursting right through the bark, bearing witness to the ancient power of Beauty in its driving desire to be expressed.

I like to think that the Creator is, among many things, a Poet, who speaks in the language of flowers, of spiraling tendrils, and flashes of sunlight on the creek—

an Untamed Artist, who carves the bark with markings, rune-like, cryptic, indecipherable—

a Caretaker, who gazes back at us through the old Beech trees with loving eyes, ever-watchful of our comings and goings.

I also imagine the Creator as a Healer, who works through the skill of human hands—quite literally—restoring and stitching people back together. This compassion-in-action reminds me of all the kind hands that I’ve witnessed as a nurse for many years.

When I think of the trust that our patients give us, it humbles me to my core.

And I pray to be worthy of it.

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When someone asks what there is to do,

light the candle in his hand.

—Rumi

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I hope all this beauty lights a good fuse in you. I know it’s been a while since I’ve sent you a letter, and I’d love to know how you are doing. As always, feel free to leave a comment.

I’ll see you in a new microseason,

xo Ann