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:
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
If you’ve been following my work for awhile, you’ve likely noticed that “small wonders” is a theme I return to again and again. The simple gifts of the natural world never cease to delight. I hope to focus on these life giving gifts during this traditionally busy month. To slow down and reflect amidst a time of preparation—both for the advent of winter and Christmas. Alongside my “to do” lists, the practice of embracing nature’s simple gifts guides and grounds me. And fosters a sense of wonder.
As the trees are nearly bare, it may seem challenging to find small wonders in nature. But with a little attention and close observation in our backyards and local surroundings, they can be discovered. The colder, darker season offers many gifts—ripe holly berries, fragrant evergreens, a patch of soft moss, sparkling Jack Frost, and wintering birds.
Pictured above are the blue “berries” of the Eastern Red Cedar, a native juniper tree. The festive berries are actually small cones—tiny packages with nutritious seeds inside. As an important winter food source, they fill the bellies of beloved birds and remind us that each season provides sustenance for body and spirit.
May nature’s simple gifts nourish you in the days to come.
The past few weeks, I’ve noticed the process of molting in the bird world. The Cardinal shedding his head feathers. The Carolina Wren hopping around without a tail feather. And all sorts of fledglings born earlier this summer growing in their adult feathers.
Stubby. Shaggy. Raggedy.
These are not the first words that usually come to mind when thinking about songbirds. They look awkward and not quite like themselves, yet, they are exactly what they need to be in this season. They are perfectly imperfect.
Molting is a process they can’t control. It’s governed by circadian rhythms, the changing light, and the turning of seasons. Molting is a season of vulnerability for birds. Feathers are used not only for flight but for camouflage, insulation, sun protection, swimming, and making sounds. Birds take care as best they can during this time—conserving their energy to grow new feathers, eating more protein, and seeking shelter. Though arduous, molting is a regenerative natural rhythm that prepares birds for what’s to come—be it migration or colder weather.
Molt stems from the Old English mutian meaning to change.
I often think of September as an in-between season. A time of change and transition. Routines and rhythms begin to shift. Our minds, hearts, and bodies begin to adapt to seasonal changes. As my own feathers feel a bit weathered and worn, I’m reminded that letting go of what no longer resonates with my values or priorities makes space for new growth and opportunities. Midlife (or whatever life season you may be in) is an opportune time to embrace the wisdom embodied in cycles of release and renewal — as autumn will soon remind us in a myriad of ways.
In the meantime, we can take our cues from birds and nourish ourselves in body and spirit during times of transition. Making space to rest and restore, releasing what no longer serves us. Because molting, like most seasonal rhythms, can guide us and point us toward hope.
“I watch the bald Cardinals feeding their fledglings, and I know they feel awful. I remind myself of what I cannot remind them–that raggedness is just the first step toward a new season of flight.”
~ Margaret Renkl, The Comfort of Crows
for reflection
You may want to use these questions as writing prompts for journaling or perhaps just to ponder while watching birds.
~ How may I meet my own “molting” process with compassion, gentleness, and patience?
~ What wisdom may I discover in cycles of release and renewal?
ways to support molting and migrating birds
~ Offer protein-rich foods such as seeds and suet.
~ Hang roost houses as the nights become cooler.
~ Turn off unnecessary lights, especially between 10pm-6am as these can disorient birds migrating at night.
A dear friend recently shared how late summer can feel stagnant and uninspiring. This is a person who thrives in new scenery and vast landscapes. I reminded him that a possible antidote is to connect with the wonder and subtle changes happening right under our noses—in our own habitats.
It’s human nature to become desensitized to the things we see every day and to forget to appreciate the life teeming in our backyards. The framework of micro seasons can help us rediscover the small wonders and micro changes unfolding before us. The tiniest mushroom that wasn’t there yesterday. The sunflower that has finally opened after a season of growth. The figs that have ripened after an abundance of rain and that are being enjoyed by a host of critters. The poke berry that’s turned from green to burgundy.
Micro seasons are an alternative way of measuring time. Of deepening our seasonal wisdom. Micro seasons celebrate life cycles and the transient nature of things. They also offer comfort and reassurance in seasonal patterns and predictable rhythms. They are an opportunity to honor the sacred in the familiar.
The ancient Japanese calendar had 72 micro seasons lasting approximately five days each. Here they are for August:
August 3-7: Great rains sometimes fall
August 8-12: Cool winds blow
August 13-17: Evening cicadas sing
August 18-22: Thick fog descends
August 23-27: Cotton flowers open
But of course our own micro seasons will be unique depending on our habitats and what captures our attention. This practice can be a form of observation, reflection, and devotion. As I look back on the micro seasons I’ve experienced in past weeks — the spring trout lilies, the periodical cicadas, the June fireflies, the wildflowers of July — my sense of gratitude swells. These moments are also touchstones to what was going on in my life at that time. Micro seasons are mileposts on the inward and outward journey as we mark the passage of time in relationship to the natural world.
an invitation
You may want to embrace the practice of micro seasons as a form of self-care that offers solace, wisdom, and wonder.
How do you identify a micro season?
You begin by noticing. By being curious.
By observing your local habitat — on walks, while looking out your window, or spending time in your yard or neighborhood.
As you slow down, notice what shimmers and shines for you.
What captures your attention, senses, and imagination?
What is a key moment or pattern being revealed in the natural world this week?
What is delighting you?
What do you want to learn more about?
These are the questions that guide your discovery of a micro season. Then, once you’ve identified one, you may want to document it in a way that is meaningful for you—a short description, a series of photos, a drawing, a journal entry, or a conversation.
a blessing
May the micro seasons you experience help you to behold the gifts offered each day. May cultivating this practice foster deep seeing, deep feeling, and deep expression as we honor the unfolding seasons—day after day, week after week.
I often lie half awake at dawn, listening to the chorus outside my window. These are sounds of comfort, reassurance, and beauty. My heart is grateful for each and every feathered being with both their individual signature voices and their collective symphony. Spring is undeniably a musical season. Birdsong crescendos as we approach the fullness of nesting season. And the dawn chorus heralds our own spring awakenings.
Birdsong awakens me to the gift of listening and the gift of being heard.
My son recently made a “soundscape map.” With a circle representing himself in the middle of the page, he sat outside and listened. First, he noticed the wind rustling through pine needles and the young leaves on the deciduous trees. Squiggly lines were drawn in the upper right of the page to denote wind. The drone of construction vehicles in the distance was marked in the bottom left corner by jagged lines. After listening more deeply, he enthusiastically drew circles around and around his own inner circle announcing, “The birds are singing all around me.”
Birdsong can easily become background noise that we are unaware of or desensitized to. Or, it may be muffled by soundproof walls, noise pollution, or our own racing thoughts. Not to mention that many songbird populations are declining, along with their songs. For birds, singing is purposeful work—to claim and defend their territories and to attract mates with hopes of continuing their songs.
Both human experience and scientific research tell us that listening to birdsong, especially in your local habitat, calms the nervous system. We are grounded in our senses while becoming more connected to the natural world. We become more rooted to our local landscapes as we cultivate a sense of belonging. When I hear the familiar chewy, chewy, chewy of the Carolina Wren perched on the deck post, the distinctively spring purty, purty, purty of the Northern Cardinal in the tree branches, and the trilled drink your tea! of the Towhee from the underbrush of the azaleas, I know I am home.
Hearing is a sense. Listening is a matter of attention.
I’ve noticed that there are different qualities of my own listening in the span of an hour. As a trained therapist and someone with high sensitivity, I at times offer an empathetic ear, which requires deep, close listening. There is a quiet listening when attuning to my inner voice and intuition. And there is often a distracted brand of listening when I am multitasking, tired, or overstimulated.
Attuning to birdsong can be a simple, contemplative practice that helps us to slow down, be present, and offer our attention with ease. When I listen to birds, I attend without strain or striving. I am both energized and relaxed simultaneously. Tuning into birdsong also helps me to be more attuned to seasonal rhythms as I note how those songs change throughout the weeks, months, and seasons. I have been savoring the whistling song of the White Throated Sparrow who has wintered here— knowing it will migrate north any day now for nesting season. By listening, we honor the wonders around us.
an invitation
My invitation this month is simple: to listen. To let the expansive songs of our feathered friends call out to you. Soothe you. And move you. Allow their songs to embrace you as they encircled my son on that windy spring morning.
Have you ever thought about what captures your attention? What you organically tend to notice on a day-to-day basis? Some people are naturally wired to see the big picture, but I’ve always had a penchant to see the small things. To notice the subtle expressions in someone’s face or slight shift in tone of voice. And the more I pay attention not only to my human counterparts but to the natural world around me, my attention to detail continues to get fine tuned season after season.
This time of year—that micro season of not feeling like winter yet not quite spring—there are many small wonders appearing. And lately, the trout lilies have been popping up in the woods behind our house, peeking out from the leaf litter. They have captured my heart and imagination. I’ve been visiting them at different times during the day this past week. These spring ephemerals won’t be around very long, so I must enjoy their company for this brief window before the leaves begin to form on the trees.
I noticed that their petals (tepals to be scientifically correct) were in different positions at various times of the day. And I discovered a pattern—they open at dawn and close at dusk following the natural rhythms of the rising and setting of the sun. Embracing the sun‘s warmth during the day and closing in a self embrace at night. It was as if their petals were unfolding in a yoga sun salutation at dawn and closing in a posture of prayer at dusk. The native little lilies, named after Brook Trout, are like dancing fairies on the forest floor.
As I spent more time with the trout lilies I recognized they are full of paradoxes. While their seasonal life cycles are very brief, their colonies can be hundreds of years old. Their delicacy coexists with their strength and determination as their slight stems push through the layers of leaves—sometimes grabbing hold of a leaf on their way up.
They are ethereal in their beauty, seemingly not of this earth, yet close to ground rising up from fertile soil. Each flower miniature, while their communities are vast.
At first glance, a small wonder’s beauty or novelty may capture your heart and attention. But with a deeper exploration and spending more time with it, you may become aware of its layers, intricacies, and sometimes paradoxes. This art of noticing, this deep attention, is one way that nature can help us to slow down and create spaciousness within. In offering our presence to the small wonders we are nourished and connected to a soulful ecosystem.
an invitation
Often used in nature journaling, the prompts below are a simple, yet profound way to explore the art of noticing and to cultivate intimacy with the small wonders around you. Take a walk or just go outside and see what shimmers and shines for you. Then sit with that for awhile and think about (or write if you wish) the following:
I notice…
I wonder…
It reminds me of…
a blessing
May the art of noticing the small wonders invite us to cherish the mini miracles in the every day.
May the small wonders remind us of our own gifts. Of what sparkles within.
May the small wonders bring us back to our sense of belonging — illuminating our part in this soulful ecosystem.
“If you will stay close to nature, to its simplicity, to the small things hardly noticeable, those things can unexpectedly become great and immeasurable.”
As winter and Christmas draw near, the natural world becomes quieter. It is a wonderful time to to seek the sacred in its stillness and to practice reverence.
I’ve always had a heart for birds, and my heart swells with awe for winter birds. They inspire the practice of reverence in me. All season long, I never tire of watching birds that have migrated here for winter such as juncos, sparrows, and the beloved hermit thrush. Our home becomes theirs as they’ve joined the family of our year-round feathered friends.
My heart leapt with joy the morning I saw a hermit thrush as I had been anticipating its arrival for several weeks. I was keenly aware that his journey was many miles during one autumn night, and he arrived at our home— his home.
Its arrival inspired me to write this poem:
Hermit Thrush Elegant with tones of brown. Shy, kind, and gentle. You came last winter and stayed for awhile. Where do you go as the days grow longer? I’ve seen your kind in the deep woods. You remind me to pause. May you find solace here. ~ Stacey Hayes
During the peak migratory months from September through November, my heart was filled with both wonder and deep humility for migrating birds. Writing this blessing for them was a balm for my worry as I imagined them dodging skyscrapers and navigating artificial light.
Reverence is practiced by acknowledging the gravity of their migration journeys. By beholding deep admiration for their beauty, habits, and understated songs. By offering hospitality, knowing their time in this particular place will come to an end.
Reverence reaches deep in the spirit—beyond observation and mindfulness, which can be paths to reverence. It is not only a feeling but a posture of the soul. In practicing reverence, our spirit connects deeply with another living being’s. We see its fullness—its gifts, strength and humility. There is a felt sense that my spirit connects with its spirit as if an invisible yarn knits us together, even if for a moment.
Reverence is defined as “deep respect for someone or something.” (Oxford Languages) and is derived from the Latin reverentia, or awe.
Reverence is a tapestry of attention, empathy, and expression.
We offer our attention as we carefully observe the being’s habits and personality. We offer empathy as we imagine what may bring it joy or suffering. We acknowledge its story, journey, hardships and delights.
Reverence may be so poignant that we may feel led to offer it expression in some way—through gratitude, a hope, blessing, painting or poem. It may stir us to compassion and invite tending such as offering protection or shelter.
Or perhaps we simply hold this experience within our heart as we go about our day—allowing it to engender wonder and care.
Much is written in psychological literature about the benefits of finding novelty in a change of scenery or traveling. Of seeking awe in new experiences. However, I find reverence in the ordinary — in the familiar song of the Carolina Wren whose tune resounds from our deck each morning. In the comforting predictability of cottontail rabbits munching in our side yard at dusk. And while my life is enhanced and my best self revealed in these moments, reverence in its purest form is ultimately not about me and my wellness. It’s about another, the vastness, and honoring the sacred in front of me.
Practicing reverence, I assure you, will make an ordinary day extraordinary. And thankfully reverence isn’t reserved for mountaintop experiences. It dwells in the familiar. It rests in the ordinary. It is enlivened by the intimacy of knowing the creatures around you.
Welcome the wonder of birds into your life by listening for their winter carols, hanging a bird feeder, and providing a bird bath.
Or, simply step outside your front door or peek outside your window. See what calls out to you and invites your attention.
Practice reverence to warm your soul on a cold winter’s day.
Nature is full of patterns, and spirals are one of my favorites. Spring is a wonderful time to look for and observe spirals in nature as new life emerges and unfurls.
I recently saw this woodland snail venture out after a long rain. What a tiny wonder to marvel at.
Spirals can also be found in seashells, pinecones, sunflowers, and fiddlehead ferns. In plants and flowers, the spiral shape allows them to maximize space and sunlight.
Spirals may symbolize harmony, rhythms and cycles, and expansion and contraction. Offering a unique wisdom, spirals can also inform and inspire our self care practices.
Mindfulness with Spirals
Looking for and observing spirals in nature can be a wonderful mindful practice. These are additional ways to mindfully connect with nature’s spirals:
~ Trace a spiral with your finger onto the palm of your hand…Notice how it feels….
~ Trace a spiral in sand or soil.
~ Be a fiddlehead fern: Use your pointer finger to slowly open (breathing in) and close (breathing out) like a fiddlehead fern. Or, use your whole self to curl up and unfurl as you breathe in and out.
Spiral Art Invitations
You may want to explore spirals further through art making:
~ Draw or paint a spiral. (Cutting along the spiral line will add a kinetic quality and movement.)
~ Arrange nature materials such as shells, leaves, or flowers to create a spiral shape.
~ Create a spiral using clay or salt dough.
~ Write a poem in the form of a spiral.
For Reflection
~ Which spiral in nature do you most identify with?
~ Where may you need to expand or contract?
~ Do you need shelter and stillness as in a snail shell, or growth and unfurling as in a fiddlehead fern?
Taking a moment on a regular basis to be fully present to the natural world around you will not only fine-tune your observation skills but will foster peace within yourself. This practice can also enhance your connection with and empathy for nature. Extend your practice of witnessing by recording your observations and thoughts visually and through words.
“Finding Peace in Presence & Patterns” is a Soulful Seasons Guide that takes inspiration from mindfulness, which in its simplest form is being attuned to the present moment. This guide is also inspired by phenology—the observation of patterns in nature throughout the seasons of the year.
This is an example of how to make a simple record of observations in nature. I created this during the fall and revisited it a few months later. I was again delighted by what I had witnessed and grateful for the nature around me, especially the dragonfly migration (which I had forgotten about!).
If you would like to explore mindful observation and phenology as a personal practice, learn more about the Soulful Seasons Guide “Finding Peace in Presence & Patterns” below.
By offering our calm presence to nature, we can foster peace within ourselves and deepen our intimacy with the natural world around us. Drawing inspiration from mindfulness and phenology (the study of patterns in nature), this guide walks you through the heart-felt practice of observing, visually recording, and reflecting on your experience in nature.
Subscribe to the Soulful Seasons Newsletter below to receive this guide as a free gift. A welcome email will be sent to you with a link to the downloadable PDF file.
Processing…
Thank you! Check your email for the link.
There was an error and we couldn't process your subscription. Please reload the page and try again.
