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
As winter releases and spring unfolds, we enter an undeniably poetic season. Small wonders are emerging, and the landscape will dramatically shift over the coming weeks. The compact form of a poem can capture seasonal transitions, tiny wonders, sweeping landscapes, and everything in-between. They help us to pause. To remember. To honor.
I admit poetry hasn’t always been the type of writing I most turn to. But lately, the poetic form has opened up streams of compassion and expression within me. I find myself reaching for a little book of poems — an anthology filled with wonder — to pause and savor. I read poetry as both solace and inspiration. Not surprisingly, reading poetry has been proven to calm the nervous system and promote an overall sense of well-being. I’ve come to embrace poetry as a contemplative practice, and in this transitional season, I offer this poem.
On the Precipice of Spring
The brown thrasher plucks
a twig from the dense thicket.
A gesture of intention.
Then a subtle song of hope—
a rite to mark the passing
of a season and the
unfolding of another.
My eyes lock in wonder.
Ancestral wisdom,
seasonal rhythms
hold us, shape us,
soften us
as the wintered earth
softens into spring.
~ Stacey Hayes
I wrote this after watching two thrashers gather nest materials from the holly bush beside our front porch. Thrashers are notably shy, and I was able to witness this moment quietly from a window. I recently learned that they can sing over 1,000 songs, and like the mockingbird, they imitate other bird songs.
Poetic Invitations
~ Allow yourself to pause by savoring a poem. Let the words wash over you, soothe you, awaken you, inspire you.
~ Consider writing a poem to honor the passing season of winter — to honor its gifts and graces.
~ Find a poem that resonates with you and invite it to spark your writing. For example, you may want to choose a line from it to use as the first line of your poem.
Poets who Inspire
Deeply connected to the natural world, these two poets write with compassion and speak to me in this season of my life:
The trout lilies have emerged—sprinkled like confetti on the forest floor behind our home. These spring ephemerals are poetic wonders that symbolize hope and resilience for me. Read more about them here.
One of my favorite things about spring is the emergence of fanciful winged creatures—the enchanting dragonfly who metamorphosed after spending two years underwater as a nymph, the Eastern Tiger Swallowtail who cocooned on the Magnolia and flutters about the treetops searching for nectar-filled flora, the Ruby Throated Hummingbird whose delicate wings traversed the non-stop flight over the Gulf of Mexico, the myriad of moths that feast on wildflowers, the solitary bee who emerged out of its winter burrow, and the Hummingbird Moth who pupated during winter underneath the leaf litter.
These wonders of nature inspire delight and awe in me. They are also rich with paradoxes: strength in smallness as the hummingbird’s tiny wings fly long distances and hover over a flower beating at 53 times per second. The delicate yet nimble dragonfly—its paper-like wings enabling it to fly upside down and backwards.
I am grateful for the gifts these creatures offer to our ecology. All except the dragonfly are vital pollinators. And dragonflies are equally important as they can eat hundreds of mosquitoes each day.
As we observe the beauty and marvels of these aviators, we can embrace the soulful gifts of inspiration and wisdom for our own journeys. For me they symbolize transformation, hope, spirit, and strength. Most importantly, they remind me to flutter, dance, and hum.
Do you identify with a winged creature?What does it symbolize for you?
You may want to explore its gifts and symbolism through a sketch, collage, or poetic form such as the Haiku (see below). Or simply savor the magical moment when you encounter one.
We can explore the season’s winged creatures through poetry such as the Haiku. This Japanese poem is only three lines with a specific number of syllables for each line (5-7-5, respectively). It also doesn’t rhyme or have a title. I am particularly drawn to the Haiku as its themes are traditionally rooted in nature and the seasons. In fact, the poem usually includes a word (a kigo) that reflects the season. I find that the boundaries of the Haiku offer spaciousness in my expression. And there is poignancy in the brevity.
A Haiku captures a moment much like a snapshot photo. In phrases and fragments we describe what we see. We offer our attention to the natural world and notice what calls out to us. Taking in that moment with our senses, we invite it to inspire our words. In the art of Haiku we express and honor what unfolds before us.
still for a moment lacey wings iridescent dart, dragonfly, grace
There many ways to support and nurture our winged friends:
Hummingbirds: Consider planting native flora that attract hummingbirds or offering hummingbird food in a feeder. Learn more.
Moths: Most moths are nocturnal, so considering reducing the use of exterior lights at night. Learn more.
Butterflies: Plant pollinator-friendly plants and offer water sources in shallow dishes. Learn how to help the endangered Monarch Butterfly.
Dragonflies: Avoid the use of pesticides and herbicides on lawns, which flow into watersheds that dragonfly nymphs inhabit for 1-2 years. Learn more about a dragonfly’slifecycle.
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.
I looked out the window after my son had fallen asleep. It looked as if someone left a light on outside — the entire backyard seemed to glow. I went on our deck and looked up. Looking down on me was a nearly full moon with several glowing halos…projecting a moonbeam onto our yard. I had not been aware of the moon lately. It was reminding me that it was still there with its reliable rhythms.
Then, I looked up at the tree canopy at the edge of the woods. The tops of the trees flickered with staccato flashes of light. The fireflies were making their silent song…rhythmic, beautiful, captivating. I savor these lights as I taste their loss, knowing they are here for a short time.
Awakening me from my trance of the fireflies were moths fluttering about my head and then landing on a blossom that is purple by day and a mystery by night.
Mostly hidden in waking hours, moths are revealed in the illumination of a summer night. I am accustomed to bees and butterflies frequenting this bush in the daytime; a new world is revealed in the darkness. These flowers belong to moths too — the winged angels of the night, oft unseen and forgotten.
How could I have imagined that all this wonder and mystery unfolds each night out my back door? With just a window separating me from this magical natural world.
Step outside in the magic of summer nights and what you will find is:
wonder illumination mystery
Anticipation & Lamentation
It is always this time of year — in June — when I start looking for them. At dusk, I gaze into the backyard with child-like wonder and anticipation that they will be there. Hoping for just one flash, one spark.
Yes, there it is! The fireflies are here.
I have since learned that they have been living here all along. For one to two years, in fact, as larvae. They watched the leaves fall to the ground in autumn. They felt the chilly weather, the frost, and even the snow in winter. And they witnessed, just as I did, bulbs shoot forth through the ground and bloom in the spring.
I treasure them. I cherish them. Oh, how I am thankful for them.
And now, the weather is warm and humid. It is their time. They are no longer larvae living under the earth and leaf litter — eating worms and slugs and snails and such. They are here to light up the meadows, the understory of the forest, and the canopy of trees.
It is their time to shine. To illuminate. To light the way.
And if you don’t look out at dark, you will miss their invitation.
They call out to each other and to those who trust in their mystery.
“Don’t miss us,” these luminaries beckon with their silent song. “Cherish us, care for us, and let us remind you of the spark that illuminates within yourself.”
They are here for a brief time. When their flickering light-up beings go dark, I always lament their absence.
But I remind myself that their eggs….then a few weeks later their larvae are with me — waiting with me for another summer.
You, the Luminary
Fireflies are a keystone of summer nights. They remind us there is magic. They illuminate our hope in ourselves. They harken back to a memory sealed from our younger years.
What has been illuminated for you lately?
What needs to be illuminated or revealed? Sometimes you are the light for someone. Sometimes you shine the light on something – a creature, a habitat, a place – that needs your voice.
Fireflies live in community. Their many lights come together to illuminate, sometimes in synchronicity. Many times, illuminating a truth or shining light on a mystery requires a village, a community. What community or support may you rely upon?
What glows within yourself? Embrace the truth that you, also, have a spark that illuminates.
You, too, are a luminary.
Luminary: 1. a person who inspires or influences others. 2. A natural light giving body. (Definition from OxfordLanguages)
Illuminate: Moonbeams, Moths & Fireflies
I went out at night. The moonbeam was bright. The crickets chirped a sound that has not been heard for many moons. There was an absence of cicadas’ hum. The fireflies lit up the trees’ silhouettes against the dark sky. Their silent song underscored the beauty of their dancing lights. The moths, winged angels of the night, fluttered about my head. So much mystery was illuminated when I stepped outside my backdoor on that weekday night.
~ Stacey Hayes~
How to Nurture Fireflies
Minimize artificial light at night. (This also helps many other nocturnal mammals and insects such as bats and moths…as well as migrating birds).
Keep some tall grassy areas and plants, as female fireflies rest in these.
Leave leaf litter and natural areas since firefly larvae live there for 1-2 years in their larval stage.
Avoid pesticides in your yard. Spraying for mosquitoes negatively impacts fireflies.
Did you know that fireflies are actually beetles and that their glow is created through bioluminescence?
