Category: Nature

Celebrating and taking lessons from nature.

What the spring equinox teaches me …
```
"... time to nurture 
the habit of gentleness 
plant seeds of kindness 
starting with myself
allow space 
for creativity to grow ..."
```
Last weekend, we in the northern hemisphere, celebrated the spring equinox, which marks a moment of balance between the light and dark, the day and night. From now until the end of June, the days will grow longer, whilst the nights grows shorter. It’s a helpful reminder, I think, that everything is connected. Springtime is the perfect opportunity to consider the different aspects of our lives and if they are held in balance. Should we be doing more of one thing and less of another? Only we can know.

I spent most of my working life searching for a better work/life balance and never really managed it. In fact, I was rubbish at it. I invariably put work first and myself last. It made me ill, not once but twice. I needed time out, and of course, I never gave myself permission to recuperate fully before, once again, diving back in. Of course, the organisation I worked for was more than happy to turn a blind eye whilst I worked myself to death, but on reflection, I know it was my own fault. I was (and remain to a lesser degree) a people pleaser. I was a woman in what still felt like a man’s world. I was bright but never brilliant, thus always felt I had to work doubly hard to keep up. It was exhausting.

When you suffer from vertigo, which affects physical balance, you will feel unsteady of your feet. There’s a constant need to check yourself. If you forget, you’re likely to stumble and fall. A lack of mental balance feels the same. I often felt anxious; I had to check myself to prevent panic setting in.

It was only when I stopped work that I truly appreciated just how important balance is. I guess I always knew this, deep down, but simply wasn’t ready to accept it. I knew that to achieve balance in my life, something had to give, and it was never going to be my job. I’m not proud of this, but it’s the truth.

When I look back now, I can see that I did relent to some degree. I stepped back when I realised that it was too much, albeit I took almost my entire career to reach that point. It came at a price but it was a price worth paying; I did recover. Recovery shouldn’t be that drastic or difficult but then, if you’ve been reading the blog, you’ll know that I usually do things the hard way. Check out my earlier post, if you haven’t seen it: https://fiwynne.com/2026/02/11/why-i-make-things-harder-than-they-have-to-be/

Spring and winter equinox, summer and winter solstice, all offer assurance that life is cyclical. If you miss an opportunity to make a change, don’t worry, it’ll come round again. I wrote this poem, not in springtime, but in autumn. When I think about it now, it makes perfect sense. Autumn’s the time you start to prepare for the following spring. You plant bulbs, giving them time to slowly settle over the winter months. Mentally, I was thinking ahead to retirement and future plans. I fully embraced the opportunity to plant new ideas, gathering momentum as my year has progressed. I sought to re-balance priorities and make space for new growth. It worked! It’s amazing what flows into your life when you make space for it to happen.

Our internal cycles don’t necessarily follow those of our planet, but there’s no better time than now to think about our life balance and consider if it’s time to plant new internal seeds, and make space for them to grow. What are you waiting for?

second springDownload
25/03/2026
Why frost warms my heart …
```
"... if we were kind 
and wise like trees 
what thaws might we unleash 
imagine the power 
of a stranger’s smile 
the touch of a hand 
warm on weary skin ..." 
```
There are a whole range of reasons why this poem felt like the right one to share this week. Is it just me, or does it feel like the world is imploding right now? I have to brace myself every time I listen to the news and, equally, have to brace myself against the storms every time I venture outside. In some ways, the weather offers up a sense of perspective. As is so often the way with nature, it reminds me that we’re not in charge. The world will keep on turning despite all our efforts to seemingly press the self-destruct button. I think it’s a good metaphor; we do seem hell bent sometimes on destruction, but mostly we are damaging ourselves. The world is stronger than we think; nature is resilient. Despite the damage we’ve done to the planet, (let’s be honest, climate change is happening), nature has an amazing way of bouncing back. Rewilding projects are demonstrating, the world over, that nature can and will recover if we can just learn to let it.

The podcast phenomenon, Mel Robbins, has coined the phrase let them, in an effort to encourage people to let go and let be. It’s so obvious when you think about it, but then it’s often the simplest things that we forget.

I’m trying to adopt the practice of letting go of the 24 hour news culture. I try, within reason, to keep abreast of current affairs, but frankly, it changes so fast, I can’t keep up. Questions such as: who is switching political parties, who wants to take over what country, what tariffs are threatened today … it’s exhausting and debilitating. Much of it feels like wasted effort when, within hours, the situation changes and the news frenzy starts all over again.

What I need to stay sane is balance. Having listened to the Monday morning offerings of chaos and carnage on Radio 4’s Today programme, it’s refreshing to listen to 15 minutes of Cafe Hope. This weekly programme focuses on good news stories from across Britain, which does what it says on the tin. For me anyway, it offers up hope. Whilst, again, it may seem obvious, it’s good to be reminded that the majority of people are decent, honest and kind hearted. People genuinely do care and will go to incredible lengths to help others; I love that and feel grateful for it.

I wrote this poem during a cold spell of winter a few years ago. It felt joyous to be outside in the crisp, cold air, wrapped up in winter woollies. Whilst it was tempting to walk at pace, in an effort to stay warm, the calming effect of the white, frosty landscape, slowed me down. There’s something about snow and frost that settles me; I want to stop and honour the serenity of the scene, soak up the silence and bask in the wonder of how everything looks so fresh and new. It prompts me to review my own sense of self, to allow a shift of perspective, to believe that I too can respond to changing circumstance. I don’t have to stay stuck in whatever mood, decision or state I find myself in. I can adapt.

What’s more, I don’t have to do it alone. On the day this poem was born, I was scrabbling around in the woods, trying to capture images of the hoar frost with my phone. It was then I noticed under the shelter of the trees, that the ground was softer, and frost free. Plants were emerging despite the cold spell. It seemed such a small thing but it made me smile.

It only takes small things to make a huge difference doesn’t it? None of us have to do this alone, we have each other; an encouraging word might be all you need to keep going on days it is particularly tough. I’m sure we can all think of examples of when a small kindness has meant the world. In the current climate, when so much feels bleak, it’s good to remember that there are pockets of real and virtual shelter everywhere, where we can all find hope and the means to thrive.

hoar frost Download
04/02/2026
How you can you love and loathe winter in equal measure …
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"... the joy of all life
is its ability to respond
to changing weather 
and mood

wintering is a safe space 
for those who cannot 
predict or know 
how to feel ..."
```
How’s everyone doing now Christmas is out of the way? A new year’s upon us and, for many, it’s back to work. Not only that, the UK has been experiencing a particularly cold spell. Even the milk on my doorstep was frozen one morning. I imagine the weather is proving challenging for many: children may have to stay home because schools are closed, and the commute to work could be more difficult than usual. Just what you don’t need.

There are people who love winter and those who dread it. People who celebrate the coming of snow, and others who hate it. Some folk will happily grab their winter coat and get out there, whilst others just want to huddle under a blanket, drink hot chocolate, and wait for spring. But that all sounds a bit too black and white and, as we all know, that’s rarely the whole story. Our feelings and attitudes to most things, winter included, are complex, often contradictory and interchangeable. At least mine are, and I don’t think I’m alone in that.

I’ve been trying to get out every day for a short walk and I’ve noticed how massively different the landscape appears, depending on the light. On some days, the landscape seems impenetrable. It feels closed to me; the familiar smells are buried; sounds are muffled and distant. Yet other days, when the sun is out, the ground begins to soften and the landscape comes alive. Walking down my lane on a cold but sunny afternoon, I am filled with hope. The sun on my face feels like a random act of kindness. Of course, acts of kindness can make all the difference to people, especially when they may be going through a hard time and are feeling low.

I can definitely see parallels in how the land responds to sunlight and how our moods can change depending on circumstance. It prompted this week’s poem, which is about the feelings we may encounter at this time of year. I mentioned Katherine May in a recent blog, and have been re-reading her fantastic book, Wintering. Wintering is not limited to a particular time of year, but more reflects an inner season we may be experiencing, which can happen at any time. But I suppose that outside influences, such as the weather, can prompt an inner wintering experience, which might feel like a double whammy, if you’re not a fan of winter in any case.

It was, of course, the winter solstice just before Christmas. We’ve already made it through the longest night and now the light is returning; I promise! I get that when you’re both going to work and coming home in the dark, it’s hard to believe that the days are lengthening. It may not feel like it right now, but have faith!

Despite the cold, frozen and seemingly lifeless landscape, things are happening. I learnt the other day that not animals who choose to hibernate through winter, remain asleep throughout. Many waken for brief periods, subject to changes in temperature and weather conditions. Whilst only a small number of mammals in the UK truly hibernate (such as hedgehogs), many others enter states of torpor. Entering torpor allows mammals to survive throughout the winter, shutting down all but essential organs during the particularly cold spells, but remaining active for the majority of the time. Squirrels do this – who knew?

On reflection, perhaps we are not all that different to many other warm-blooded mammals. We are amazingly flexible and can adapt to changing circumstances, often unconsciously. Isn’t that incredible? Just as life continues below the frozen surface, and on the seemingly naked tree branches, life continues within us even when we think we’re standing still. I, for one, think that’s remarkable.

My wish for you today, is to spend some time paying attention to what’s going on outside, it can serve as an act of kindness and may gift you something you didn’t realise you needed. Why not try it!

wintering Download
14/01/2026
How to live with who you are not who you want to be …
```
"... both nature and nurture 
shaped me 
to be just so
if I can’t let go 
perhaps I can 
accommodate ..."
```
If you follow this blog you’ll know that I’ve been on an extended trip this year to the Faroe Islands and Iceland. Now I’m finally home, I’m thinking about the next chapter of my life. I retired earlier in the summer and, in many ways, this overseas trip has acted as something of a circuit breaker. My old life in full time work truly feels like a world away.

But what the trip has reminded me of, is that despite all the variables impacting on my life, at the core, I reflect the same values, outlook and, yes, hang ups I always have. I do think that autumn is a good time to re-evaluate where you are in life and consider any changes you want to make. I was in an online meeting with a group of other women last month who were invited to share what in their lives they wanted to retain and what to release. I really struggled with the exercise, but finally wrote that I wanted to rid myself of anxiety. Now, that’s a tall order.

In the days that followed, I thought more about the gap between what we may want to be and what we actually are. Watching the waves crashing against the rocks one afternoon, it dawned on me that so much of what happens in life is beyond our control. This doesn’t just impact on us as humans, but on every living thing on the planet.

Even the ocean, that appears incredibly powerful and a law unto itself, is not in control. It’s the weather that mostly determines how the oceans meet the shore; it’s the moon that dictates the tides.

As for me, a combination of nature and nurture shaped who I’ve become. It’s the way I was parented and schooled, the friends I made, and the place where I grew up. I cannot help but be who I am, but that’s not the whole story. Nurture takes you so far but you always have nature to fall back on, and that’s what inspired me when wave-watching. The oceans have so much to contend with: the moon is pulling them one way, and the wind another, yet they just keep moving. They are powerful enough to move mountains, quite literally. They continue to re-shape our shorelines, cutting through rock, leaving us gasping with awe at caves and sea arches the world over.

Anxiety is part of who I am and I’m naive to think I can ditch it. But accepting that anxiety is part of me, doesn’t mean I have to necessarily give into it. I can rage against it if I choose, I can ignore it, negotiate with it, even welcome it. It doesn’t define me. It’s part of me, but it’s not the whole of me.

Learning to love and accept the parts of ourselves we might not like can be a struggle, but it’s worth the effort to try. It makes life a whole lot easier, that’s for sure. I feel much happier accepting that anxiety is a part of me that I must learn to accommodate, rather than constantly punishing myself for feeling anxious.

This week, I invite you to reflect those parts of yourself you’d like to ditch but then acknowledge, that without them, you wouldn’t be who you are.

nature and nurture Download
19/11/2025
How we carry traces of the people we’ve loved and lost …
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"... I think of the people 
who’ve gone before me
how I carry echoes of them 
like layers of ash 
debris I’ve collected 
and cannot discard... " 
```
This time of year is a particularly poignant one for me as two members of my immediate family died in this past week, a year apart from each other. I’ve touched on bereavement in an earlier blog, and I know that it’s a subject that will resonate with almost everyone.

Throughout my life, I’ve found different ways of relating to death. As a child and young adult, I fully embraced the Roman Catholic tradition in which I was brought up, but from which I later departed. These days, I don’t align myself to any religion or faith, and I find nature my best option when considering most things for which I need a reference point beyond myself. Does that make sense? I hope so, because I can’t think of a better way of explaining it.

Nature has a life cycle that, in many ways, matches our own, just on a different timescale. Trees are a great example, and I’ve found them such an inspiration for life in general and for my poetry in particular. Here in Iceland, I’ve encountered glaciers and the lakes that form due to melting ice, ultimately leading to the sea. It got me thinking about life and how we can’t always control how our journeys end, when we might die or how long it might take. Sitting by the lake at the tongue of the glacier, I felt I was watching the ice slowly die. Ice breaks off and floats in the lake until it finally melts. The icebergs are graceful, beautiful, and yet, at the same time, seemingly helpless. I couldn’t help but think that, after all those years of slowing moving down the mountain, splitting from an enormous glacier above, the ice will simply vanish without trace.

And yet, every iceberg tells a story. They display visible layers of ash, from volcanic eruptions, in much the same way as rock reveals layers of seismic activity in its structure. We too carry traces, some visible and others not. I’ve lost count of the physical scars present on my body, evidence of various accidents that involved broken bones and/or open wounds. Stitches leave scars that eventually fade but never totally disappear. Neither can I calculate the ways that my life has been enriched by others who I’ve loved and lost. It can be little things, like the way I polish my shoes or parallel park the car (just as my father taught me), to life changing decisions, due to the words or actions of a loved one. It was remembering the advice of a very dear friend, that led me to step down from a temporary promotion at work. It was one of the toughest but best decisions I ever made.

Truth is, we internalise the influence of others all the time, some of it conscious and some unconscious. You might not always welcome it: I hear both my parents in my head these days when I say something out loud and I recognise my mother’s mannerisms in my facial expressions. I purposefully make choices every day to live life to the full, to honour those who no longer have the luxury of doing so.

I don’t have any answers. I don’t know if there is any form of life after death but I have memories that still feel very much alive; I believe that means a part of that person lives on in me. At this time of year, when I’m remembering my loved ones, I miss them of course, but I also feel deep gratitude. I’m thankful that they were part of my life, and they left their mark on me, which means I continue to cherish them. I don’t think they would want me to feel sad but rather celebrate what they were and, in some way, still are. On a bright day at Svínafellsjökull, I felt sad yet glad at the same time.

svinafellsjokull Download
29/10/2025