As I saw these Winter Aconites pushing up through the soil, I was struck not by the idea of new life emerging, but by the fact that it had been there all winter, just beneath the surface. The arresting yellow flowers are a cheerful portent of spring, and most welcome, but they have not sprung out of nothing. The plant has been resting – saving its energy – through the cold months, gathering strength before sending its joyful flowers up into the light.
In a recent Substack post, I wrote about the battle between the Oak King and the Holly King – the Oak King triumphant at Midwinter when he appears at his most bare, yet holds his strength deep in his roots. Then the Holly King takes his chance at Midsummer, when the Oak’s energy is poured into leaf and growth.
It is no surprise that these thoughts have accompanied me on my recent walks. I have spent the winter turned inwards, thinking carefully about how I nourish my own creativity, and how I might support others to do the same.
The idea for The Woolgatherer’s Almanac has been forming for many months. At first it felt scattered – as though I was trying to gather too many parts of myself into one place. Gradually, it has settled around a simple premise: if all these threads can exist within me, why not within a creative project? And if the creative process itself is valid – regardless of outcome – how might I live that more fully, and share it honestly?
This is a beginning.
My first small experiment in bringing together voice, music, field recordings and image is a reading of The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy, which you can listen to here.
Thank you for being here at the start.
0 comments