Northern Drift: Our plans may lay dormant... but will soon spring to life!

WINTER is a time to gently navigate our way through wild winds, heavy rains, surging tides, cold snowfall, short days… There is a hidden truth, a latent power within the colder, darker days when the landscape lies fallow, writes Monique Sliedrecht.

Plants and flowers lie dormant, not visibly growing or alive at the present time, but they have all the potential for powerful action. For now, they are in a place of suspended growth.

Bears, bees, bats and hedgehogs hibernate, and many more creatures besides, including the groundhog. These animals enter a state of torpidity, conserving energy for the warmer months.

In North America, at the start of February, there is a popular tradition called Groundhog Day. It derives from the Pennsylvania Dutch superstition that if a groundhog emerging from its burrow on this day sees its shadow due to clear weather, it will retreat to its den and winter will persist for six more weeks; if it does not see its shadow because of cloudiness, spring will arrive early. Let’s hope it is the latter! Groundhog Day, the film starring Bill Murray, is a classic and has become regular viewing for me at this time each year.

Our hearts may match this February winter mood and we wonder if inspiration will ever come again. But even as the winds blow furiously around the house, I have started to note the morning light coming sooner.

As Scottish poet, Liz Lochhead, writes in her poem “In the Mid-Midwinter”:

‘the light comes back

the light always comes back

and this begins tomorrow with

however many minutes more of sun and serotonin.’

For now, like the plants, we can give ourselves permission to lie dormant for a while, to let ideas and plans simmer, trusting their fruit will come in time and that something is happening beneath the surface. A peace comes with that realisation, a quiet acceptance, which is perhaps the true purpose of this season. And “the light always comes back”.

Growth includes times of dormancy, reflection and rest. Without it we cannot thrive. As the ancient text says: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens...” Right now – right here – is the ground from which we grow.

I spotted snowdrops the other day, pushing their way quietly up through the dead leaves and frosty ground. It brought joy to my heart.

While it tells us that spring can’t be too far off, it stands here within winter – a pure and natural and feisty little force.

And in order for the snowdrop to bloom, its bulb (just like many other plants) needs both the dark and a time of cold. It grows from this place, even as it transcends the darkness to break, like love, a seemingly hard and impenetrable surface.

We can take the glimmers of life and song as promises of a time of great activity and what is to come, as with Thomas Hardy’s Thrush:

‘At once a voice arose among

The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

Upon the growing gloom.’

(Thomas Hardy, The Darkling Thrush)

Take heart! Love is always rising and life will burst forth.

The snowdrops and thrushes speak up for the often unloved days of our present.

- Monique Sliedrecht is an artist, blogger and podcaster based at Freswick – www.moniquesliedrecht.com.

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