Writing

Contemplative Practices, Ecotherapy, Seasonal Wisdom, Self Care, Writing

The Gentle Unfolding

March 6, 2026 Stacey Hayes

Rhythms that Sustain Us

Yesterday the wind whipped, and I just wanted to stay under my blanket. But the gusts kept calling for me—for me to discover the slow, steady unfolding in my own backyard.

I noticed the bird song sustaining as sunbeams elongated in late afternoon.

I noticed hope emerging in those same songs as new fragments of nests were nestled in thickets.

I noticed quiet growth in the speckled young leaf of the trout lily, unearthing itself in the back woods.

I noticed the elm buds peeking out of their winter cocoons.

I noticed the warming of burgundy tree buds as they unfurled on maple branches.

I noticed this body of mine craving deep dreaming and deep rest — even as the earth softens and the slumbers of late winter loosen.

I noticed that in this season, rest and creation can be held together — in the song of the wren, in the cup of a half-formed nest, and in the nascent bud of a daffodil.

This quiet, steady growth in all its forms is a sustaining rhythm. Muted and understated in a culture where loud, showy, and “more” usually get all the attention.

The whispers of this in-between season offer an alternative.

Where less is more.

Where slow is sustaining.

Where silence speaks volumes.

Where kneeling to meet the small wonders underfoot is a posture of strength.

Where life is not hurried or pressured, but steady and measured.

Where we can lean into our own gentle unfolding, so beautifully modeled to us by the stirrings in our surroundings.

Where we make space in our days for stillness. For noticing.

And for following the call of the wind.

A Creative Invitation

A “Wonder Wander:” You may want to wander in your surroundings to notice what’s unfolding around you—and perhaps take photos to document your observations.

Consider writing a poem or journal entry inspired by your “noticings,” weaving in some of these words that speak to you:

Quiet. Slow. Steady. Patient. Gentle. Trusting. Wisdom. Song.

Contemplative Practices, Sanctuary, Seasonal Wisdom, Sense of Place, Writing

Wintering Spirit: Poetry as Sanctuary

February 4, 2026 Stacey Hayes

As winter deepens, I offer an invitational poem and writing prompt to explore reading and writing poetry as a sanctuary for the spirit.

For me, reading poetry is a doorway into a sacred pause. And writing poetry is more about the process than the end product. It’s about expression, not expectation. Writing poetry is listening, tuning in, and offering reverence to what I notice and discover.

Now, on to the poem…

Wintering Spirit

By Stacey Hayes

Pause—to notice the cardinal resting in the giving holly,

sheltering herself from winter’s wind.

Listen to the muted hymn of the White-throated Sparrow,

rising from the backyard thickets.

Watch the squirrels chasing each other, protecting their stashes of seeds,

sustenance for today and the days to come.

Inhale—the crisp arctic air as the cold front blows from the north,

filling your lungs with the breath of life,

filling your spirit with clarity.

Open yourself to whatever may be unfolding in this moment,

both within you and around you.

Offer yourself compassion as winter ages

and as spirit settles into sacred stillness.

This is a variation of a poem I wrote at the turning of the new year. Reflecting back on it as February begins to unfold, I find that its truths still resonate. The poem calls forth the rhythms of the immediate landscape and reminds us of simple practices that help us tune into what our spirits may be longing for. It is a poem of place and a poem of presence.

Even if you don’t think of yourself as a writer or poetry person, consider creating a poem using the words below to begin each line—honoring your own observations and quiet wisdom.

Pause…

Listen…

Watch…

Inhale…

Open…

Offer…

May you welcome the solace of the natural world.

May you welcome the sanctuary of your own words.

Wintering Mountain Mint against a backdrop of sleet and snow—
January 2026, Durham, NC

Autumn Leaves, Belonging, Contemplative Practices, Ecospirituality, Nature & Me, Seasonal Rhythms, Sense of Place, Writing

A Spirited Walk

November 13, 2025 Stacey Hayes

A couple of months ago, I was at the airport waiting to board my flight. While chatting with a woman at the gate, I discovered we shared a destination—a national park. I asked, “Do you like to go hiking?” She replied with a smile spreading across her face, “I go on spirited walks.” I nodded with both deep understanding and curiosity. And her response has lingered with me since.

Now, would you come along with me on this spirited walk in November?

…………

The crow’s caw calls me onto the well-worn path, my heels wearing it even more. My middle-aged bones, like autumn, creakier than the year before. I take my spirit for a walk, a storied spirit whose chapters continue to unfold with the seasons.

The plip-plop of falling leaves carried by the morning breeze accompany the squirrel’s chatter (likely about me, unsure of my intentions). Dappled light settles onto my cheeks as the drone of machinery settles in the distance. The song of breeze, leaf, and squirrel rise into the thin mountain air.

My shadow follows alongside me—my companion of contrast, an expression of light’s play. The sun spins golden threads on the yellowing tree tops.

On the left, the sign says, “Wrong way, blind curve ahead” as the muffled sound of helicopter propellers sweep up the landscape. Yet, I am heartened by a tiny maple leaf that glimmers at me. Its quilt-like pattern of alternating rust and gold are understated but not unnoticed. Edges curled upward. Veins exposed. Tattered. Worn but not weary. The trees whisper their goodbyes to each leaf, branches baring as autumn ripens.

The leaf ushers me off-trail to a resting place. Often, a spirited walk invites me into stillness. This walk is slow and meandering. An intentional inhale as the trees exhale—an ancient rhythm of reciprocity. Of breath. Of life.

Refreshed, I saunter up, up, up, noticing the 1-2-1-2 cadence of my feet. My breath crescendos with each step. The forward motion senses the sacred rising up. Each pace searching for spirit of place, already known by the crow. The squirrel. The oak. The black bear.

The late morning light welcomes me around the bend, and the path levels out. The curve is, in fact, not blind. It is illuminated with both light and song.

Caw, caw.

Chick a dee dee dee.

It is the song of the American Crow. And the Carolina Chickadee. Along with the Red-bellied Woodpecker, the Golden-crowned Kinglet, and the Red-breasted Nuthatch. As birds carol together on the mountain top, spirit rises.

I stop for awhile to listen. To feel. To be. Eventually, the internal pressure of time urges me to go. As I make the descent back, the glimmering maple leaf, the squirrel chatter, the sun’s golden threads, and avian carols are woven into me—into spirit.

an invitation

If you’re able, consider taking not just a walk but a spirited walk. It can be (and usually is for me) right in your neighborhood. This type of walk needs no companions, earbuds, or fitness trackers. It is simply you and the earth that holds you. It is about noticing, listening, and being curious. It seems so simple, but I believe we often forget the joy and peace of simple things. So, I encourage you to take a spirited walk and see where your path takes you on this November day.

Contemplative Practices, Seasonal Rhythms, Writing

Glimmers for September

September 9, 2025 Stacey Hayes

Here we are as summer wanes. Last September I wrote about this being a month of transitions. And as seasonal rhythms remind us — with their reassuring and predictable patterns — this theme has emerged again.

Transition times are an opportunity to honor and cherish the gifts of the passing season as we anticipate the graces to come. Paging back through my journal, I note the gifts of summer—the first sighting of fireflies, the increased activity of Eastern Cottontails, and the pollinators in full force, especially on the mountain mint and bee balm. I also noted how summer calls my spirit both to play and deep rest.

These were documented in what I call a list of “noticings.” My personality by nature longs for lists—metaphorical containers that hold “to dos,” groceries to be purchased, homeschool tasks, and books to check out from the library. These practical lists help me to feel not only organized but rooted. I feel sort of lost without them.

The most nourishing type of list for me, though, is one that records the moments that stand out in both my inner and outer landscapes. These “glimmers” are simple moments of joy and peace that I encounter in the small wonders around (and within) me. My journal is filled with these. When I cannot muster the creative energy or time to write proper prose, I start with a list.

This practice stirs my creativity and deepens my appreciation for the glimmers in day-to-day life. My lists of “noticings” have become a form of meditation and contemplative practice. They are collections of observations, wonder, and insights that I can return to again and again. It is a gift to page back through my journals and be reminded of glimmers from previous seasons and years.

My most recent list includes:

~ The hummingbird has been spending more time at the feeder preparing for fall migration.

~ Subtle yellow hues on the elm tree

~ Waning daylight

~ Birds still molting (Carolina wren is missing a tail feather)

~ Goldenrod: a symbol of the seasonal transition as it leans into autumn, offering its beauty and sustenance. A bridge between seasons. A keystone species.

~ I am slowly coming out of a fallow creative season. A necessary time of waiting and listening to hear what rises and unfolds.

These lists have no rules; there are no “to do’s.” They are unassuming. They are whatever is needed in the moment.

When woven together, these life-giving lists tell a story of how my inner and outer landscapes intertwine. They become more than the sum of their parts—they become a form of wholeness.

So when your well fills dry or you are longing for a sacred pause, consider making a list of “noticings.” Over time you may notice patterns or themes emerge. You will also become more in tune with subtle shifts in the seasons—and how those shifts are reflected within you.