I have been watching spring arrive in the most unhurried, generous way.

Everything outside is green and lush. The trees are full. The birds are back and singing their songs at all hours. And our resident groundhog has emerged from his winter burrow and has been slowly, contentedly eating his way through the dandelions. I find myself stopping to watch him more than I probably should.

There is something about witnessing nature settle into itself that feels like an invitation to do the same.

Winter was a season of deep creativity for me. Ideas were moving, things were being built, something was alive in the making. And then, as we moved into spring, I noticed something unexpected: my body wanted to stop. Not collapse, not shut down, just rest. Pause. Create nothing new for a little while.

And I'll be honest, there was a moment of resistance. Spring is supposed to be momentum, right? Growth, emergence, action. The external world was waking up and part of me felt like I should be too.

But the body knows.

What I have come to understand through this work, and keep relearning in my own life, is that we have our own internal seasonality. And it doesn't always match the calendar. Honouring what the body actually needs, rather than forcing myself into momentum because the season said so, is its own practice. A quiet, sometimes countercultural one.

So I rested. I gave myself space. I let the creative energy settle.

And now, just as the outside world is flourishing, I feel something stirring again. A readiness. A leaning forward. Something in me wants to unfurl alongside everything outside.

In early May, I experienced a profound return to myself. I will share more about that another time. But I name it here because it matters, and because it is part of what has me feeling so ready for what is coming next.

An alcove, an audio series, and art making...

I have been quietly working on a few things and I am excited to begin sharing them.

The first is something I have been building for a while now. An alcove, of sorts. A quieter place, away from the noise and the algorithm, where we can slow down, settle in, and get quiet enough to actually listen. A space designed for anyone who is seeking that kind of refuge. More soon.

The second is a summer series. Audio, unhurried, something you can come to whenever you have the desire and the space. It felt important that it be something you could access on your own time, in your own way, rather than showing up to a Zoom on a summer afternoon. I am really looking forward to sharing this one with you.

And the third is a workshop that has been living in me for a while: something that brings together somatic listening and creative expression. I am calling it Somatic Art Making, and I cannot wait to tell you more.

None of these are quite ready to share fully yet. But they are close. And naming them here feels like its own kind of unfurling.

A Practice for You

Before you close this email, I'd like to invite you to pause for just a moment.

If you can, step outside or find a window. Let your eyes land somewhere in the natural world, even if it's just a patch of sky or a single tree. You don't need to do anything with what you see. Just let it come to you.

Take one easy breath.

And then, with one hand resting on your belly or heart, ask yourself: what season is my body actually in right now?

Not what the calendar says. Not what you think you should be feeling. Just what's true.

Maybe you're still wintering. Maybe something is quietly germinating. Maybe, like the groundhog, you're just beginning to blink into the light. Maybe, it is something completely unique and unexpected.

Whatever you notice is the right answer. Your body keeps its own time, and listening to it is its own kind of practice.

Warmly,

Tami