February is for the dreamers (Creative musings on spring)

February feels like a whispered secret, a hush before the bloom. 

It stands on the edge of winter, teasing us with its golden light and the first sweet murmurs of spring. 

This weekend, I found myself brewing ideas (and overthinking, as I tend to do) about what this should be about. Creativity, I have learned, can be overwhelming when found in abundance. And so, as I sat in my creative corner, sifting through all the ideas, a thin sliver of sunlight curiously peeking between the curtains caught my attention.

Curiosity meeting curiosity. I pulled the drapes open wide, and there it was! The bright, beautiful winter sun, grinning back at me through the glass. 

Outside, the vast blue sky mimicked the tranquility of the sea, patiently letting wayward clouds drift by. The bare branches swayed, slow and reverent, like in an unspoken prayer towards the sun. I leaned into the light, letting it graze my skin, a touch that felt so warm that it felt like love. 

Cracking the window open, I could hear the songs of the birds, crisp against the hush of the season. When suddenly, the lingering breath of winter nipped at my cheeks, pulling me back from this blissful reverie.

Still, I eagerly searched for any sign from nature that spring was near. I combed between the frost-laced diamonds clinging to the grass-blades, for that first daring bloom. But the world remained bare. And yet, even in all its emptiness, I could sense something stirring. I could hear it in the quiet promise carried in the wind, a soft- knocking at the door of change yet to come. 

So, I gathered these warm promises and tucked them inside my chest. Letting it hum with my every heartbeat and delicately waltz with my hope. A gentle rhythm I can carry with me through the last of winter. 

Picture source: Wix

I have always been a dreamer. Some called it naive, but I called it faith. Faith in the unseen, in the in-between, in the slow unfurling of what is yet to bloom. Dreaming is not a way to escape life but a tender act of trust. It is knowing that even the dark will bend to let the light back in. 

It is standing in the bareness, knowing I will rebloom. And when I do, I will let it unfold me petal by petal, until I am drunk on sunlight to last me a lifetime. 

February belongs to those who believe in what is not yet visible. It is a fleeting, tender month. A quiet inhale before the exhale of spring. It arrives with an open heart, knowing it has only 28 days to offer us glimpses of the life waiting for us just beyond the horizon. It nudges us to notice the hidden signs of nature. The tight buds on the trees, the birds daring to sing again, the first splash of color against winter’s canvas. 

Even though this season is not yet meant to be spring, I hope you will allow yourself to take it all in. The waiting, the longing, the quiet unfolding.

After all, February belongs to the dreamers.

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Poem of the Week

This time of year carries a quiet magic. It is neither fully winter nor quite spring, existing in the tender in-between. It is the month of the dreamers. Those who see beyond the bare branches and sense the renewal awaiting. February teaches us patience, but it also fills us with anticipation.

Last February, I was greeted by hope that arrived disguised as sunlight. It met me in the golden glow of morning, in the crisp air that carried the scent of change, in the knowing that even in stillness, life is preparing for what is next. I put those feelings into a poem, and today, I wanted to share it with you.

Picture source: Season of beautiful things (poem) by CoraLynn

May these words remind you that even in the stillness, something is always on its way.

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Book quote of the week

I recently read Tales from the cafe, by Toshikazu Kawaguchi and found this very fitting quote from the book and thought I would share.

"People tend to feel happy when spring arrives, especially after a cold winter. When spring begins, however, cannot be pinpointed to one particular moment. There is no one day that clearly marks when winter ends and spring begins. Spring hides inside winter..."

— Toshikazu Kawaguchi, Tales from the Cafe

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Gentle words of the week

If February is the month of quiet promises, let us take a moment to listen for our own.

Here is an affirmation to carry with you this week:

I allow myself to sit in stillness and listen for the signs of the creative spring already humming underneath.

Picture source: Wix

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Creative Prompts 

If you are feeling called to write, then these creative writing prompts might spark some inspiration:

• Observe and describe how your backyard (or a nearby place in nature) is preparing itself for the arrival of spring. 

• Write a list of all the promises you want February to keep.

• Write about a scavenger hunt for the first signs of spring.

• Write your take on the prompt: “Spring exists underneath the surface.”

• Imagine hope as a sensory experience. What does it look like? Smell like? Feel like?

I would love to hear your reflections! Please share them in the comments. I am always excited to read your view on spring, hope, and what February means for you. 

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Stay Connected

I hope you found something in these words to carry with you. If you would like to receive more reflections, poetry, and creative prompts, consider subscribing to my newsletter. I would love to have you along for the journey.

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Thank you for dreaming with me, believing in the in-between, and being part of this creative community. Your kindness and encouragement mean the world to me.

All my love,

CoraLynn