This is the official thread for anyone participating in my seasonal writing sanctuary Spring Lightwho wants to share their class-inspired work here on Substack and connect with others taking the course.
There are several ways to share your work from class:
Simply post your response to any of the class exercises as a comment in this Thread. (Alternatively, for more engagement and reach, restack this Thread with your work as a comment, so it shows up in your Notes).
If you have written a full essay, share it as a Post on your Substack (and email it to you your readers). If you do this you could publish it and then share a link in the comments of this Thread so we can find it and read it.
if you want me to see it, although of course me seeing it is not the point :-)
You can share each day, or you could share a round up at the end, or you could wait until the end of class, take your favourite piece and carefully craft it into an essay to share on your Substack at a later date. Anything is fine!
Please note I cannot guarantee to read and share everything but I share a few pieces, thoughts and reflections as we go along.
NOTE: There is no need to mention the Invitation number or title (as that won’t mean anything to anyone outside of class) and I kindly request that you don’t publicly share details of the invitations themselves, just your response to them. Thank you!
If you would like to join the class but haven’t yet registered you can join me and writers from around the world in our private class here (It started on April 22 and runs until April 28, 2024):
I'm so looking forward to this. I signed up for the winter retreat, but there was a severe winter going on in my head at the time, and I couldn't engage. It's still pretty icy, but some signs of thaw, so I'm eager to explore Spring and all that can mean. I am having some wonderful moments noticing and getting to know spring as it emerges in nature, and am excited to write about it with you all!
Spring Light is here at the perfect time for me - Thank you for this opportunity to learn and be inspired with other writers. My substack ... https://www.oldgrateful.com/ ... explores healing, understanding myself and others, and gratitude. 🐢
So looking forward to the writing week. I am pleased to be here and reinvigorate my writing, as I feel I’ve been a bit stagnant, time for a spring clean 🥰
This has come at the perfect time for me thank you. I begin the relaunch of my therapy business "Cherry Blossom Therapies" from the pink moon next Wednesday, through to the flower moon towards the end of May. Writing is a huge part of my content creation for my business & I am hoping it will help me focus in on what I want Cherry Blossom Therapies to represent.
It is a reflection of my own healing journey & spring to me is like a rebirth. New beginnings, new growth & stretching up towards the sun to absorb the light to help us bloom alongside the blossoming trees & flowers.
My birthday lands towards the end of the course on the 28th April, so it is a wonderful start to my new year of 42yrs young 🌸🪻🌷🌳
Hi.I joined Substack through the Winter Writing Sanctuary and have loved sharing my thoughts and having a place for my writing. I'm in need of a bit of a refresh so this has come at the perfect time.
This is a link to my Substack where you can read some of my stories, extracts from my novels and my new project of finding the stories of the Isle of Axholme where i live and work.https://substack.com/@rebeccakershaw?utm_source=user-menu
I started the year with the Winter writing Sanctuary and have creating a daily writing ritual. I am so excited to be writing with Spring light this week as I slowly emerge from my winter cocoon.
I've done your writing sanctuaries for all the seasons except spring, Beth, and I am so looking forward to this one! Tis the season of blossoms, blue skies, nesting birds, and new life. I'm eager to see what will bloom forth from my heart and pen in the coming week, and from other participants. And anyone interested in reading about heartfelt connections to nature and companion animals (horses, dogs, cats etc.) is welcome to join me on my substack https://lindsayhartley.substack.com/ :)
I love Kokoro and am taking my time reading it to let it all sink in, savouring the many beautiful layers in this amazing book. Looking forward to joining Spring Light on Monday. I have recently set up a Substack (@sheofthestones), but have not posted anything yet
Hi all, I'm so happy to be here. I've done a few of Beth's classes now and really enjoyed the writing process. Now with Spring Light I'd like to be brave and share some of my work. Feel like this is a welcoming and nourishing space to do so :) Happy writing everyone xxx
From the first class (Stirring):
I could sense it on the breeze: earth warming, energy rising, new growth and transformation taking place. And I could feel an uprising, a rebellion of sorts taking place inside me too. As rain gently strummed the window, I watched as drops fell on leaves, pressing them in a sequence like the keys of a piano. There in the steady rhythm of nature’s percussion, I found peace in the morning stillness.
Hi everyone, it's so lovely to be here! I'm in rural Aberdeenshire, Scotland, and Spring is definitely not making herself felt here yet this year! There have been some glimmers of hope as the sun flits in and out of the April shower clouds, so I'm keeping everything crossed that it stays a wee bit longer this time.
My writing journey is "ahem" shall we say sporadic. Life keeps getting in the way, allowing imposter syndrome to sneak in, and then I stop writing again. I did start a Substack about a year ago ([substack.com/@thefairmersquine](http://substack.com/@thefairmersquine), but I lost my way with that a wee bit too!
My hope for this Spring Light retreat is to get me back on the proverbial horse again - I'm looking forward to where this journey will take us . . .
I am so thankful for this space and look forward to the community, journey and process as we journey together throughout this sanctuary. What a joy to be here!
I've been loving the audio of Kororo, absolutely wonderful book! The questions and reflections are deeply touching and inspiring. I am full of eager anticipation for Spring Light. I came upon Beth before the winter sanctuary, but my dear mum died just before Christmas and whilst I felt moved to write, I just couldn't engage. I needed to be quiet, alone and deeply reflective rather than following prompts. I have learned much about life and myself this past few months, and am fascinated to see what emerges through the creative process. Thanks Beth for creating this heartfelt offering and caring community.
Starting a bit late, but nonetheless fully vested and eager to begin!
For my day 1 sentence, I wrote a haiku about my snowdrops which have taken over my entire yard since my Okinawan mother-in-law departed this life. Her gardening skills continue to amaze and inspire me. Those snowdrops make me smile and bring me such joy.
I could sense it on the breeze, the chance to float on a new wind, to leave behind the tethers of ego, ambition, even my dreams, and just let the newness of the spring breeze lift and carry me away, wherever the wind blows.
Moss hangs, ferns drape, and bushes blossom between evergreens and alders. Blended in these forest hues, a girl cloaked as green as the shrubs with cheeks as perfectly pink as the flowering rosehips, digs under the cover of foliage. She digs because she knows what the wild forest knows, spring can cover, spring can hide. The entangled canopy overhead tells us so. The Lily of the Valley carpeting the once barren forest floor does too.
Known as Sage (a chosen name for her chosen colour palette), this is only the first of her secrets. Fighting back tears as she plunges her shovel straight at the Bleeding Hearts in bloom, she wishes her own bleeding heart could blossom. But not today. Spring has done its job covering. She must do her job burying. Hiding. Protecting.
I know that even if I live to a hundred, I will always crave another chance to sense the familiar fresh smell of Spring; a hint of daffodil, a touch of wild garlic and most of all, that greenest of scents emanating from new leaves and grass.
So looking forward to this course, I am going through my own personal spring in my life, with a sense of possibility and hope so this has come at the perfect time. I'm still struggling to stop being so critical with myself, so I intend to go into this course with a completely open mind about what I create. As long as I show up, that's enough
Oh my, today's exercise was sooo much fun! I haven't the faintest idea how what poured out of me poured out of me but it was so fun, I thought I'd share!
The title of my novel is apparently "The lush green life I never lived" and here's my first lines:
She had no idea. She’d wrecked and wrung out her brain over this ever since she was born. Or, as her mother would say, she blossomed into the world, never ever to wilt or perish.
At times, it felt like the biggest burden. Ever Blossom. No way out of ever, never being allowed the joy of simply budding, or actually just hibernating, considering if and when to blossom ever again.
Other times felt like a premonition, a pre-carved path.
And other times still, she felt like a bubblegum.
I hope you're having as much fun with this as I did!! Lots of love to all of you on here!
I'm being brave and starting a substack although I've no idea how it works yet but I'm sure it'll be fun learning. I'm hoping I've added a link to something I wrote for Spring called to me like...
I could sense it on the breeze, the soft stirrings of springs midlife crisis. A calling to be part of it all before the freshness fades, the tattered tulips collapse and the blossom falls. An invitation to join the party now. Not wait until tomorrow to worship the extraordinary transformation about my feet. Bombard my senses with celebration for new life , I am ready ! All I need to do is make time every day to stand on the earth and notice, allow myself to soak up the wonder. Nature seems far better at celebrating the arrival of this season. Birds sing for joy along with alarm calls and boasting ‘I’m over here’ type calls. It’s humbling they make the time in their busy nest building schedule to feel the spring sensation. How do we mark its arrival ? Mowing, strimmjng, weeding and tidying. I throw down my to do list and stride out of my workload and enter the bliss of pausing to be part of the Spring energy rising. The present moment is as fragile as a dandelion seed in my palm , twitching to fly free.
Despite being tired and drained from a long day travelling, Invitation C was calling. It's so wonderful to have this space to slow down and reconnect.
My single sentence:
The sun slows her arc across the deep blue atmosphere, painting shadows and rainbows, warming bones and wet earth, sparking songs in every dawn and blushes in every sunset, coaxing life forth from every corner and tired body.
Invitation D (all in the details) went an unusual direction for me when the colour green, lead to the title: Little Green Men. In the spirit of just going with the flow I went with it though and here's the beginning of my story:
When he was young, Sam worried about the little green men. He saw them everywhere: lurking in the trees that edged the park; hiding between tins of canned vegetables in the supermarket, peering through classroom windows at the school children beavering away within.
They were always spied out of the corner of his eye and, when he turned to see more, they were gone. Perhaps they had some out-of-this world technology that shielded them from direct scrutiny. Perhaps they scurried away at the speed of light before a human could so much as turn their head. Or perhaps their telepathic senses knew you were about to look before you had even moved a single muscle.
It didn’t matter to Sam.
They were there. They were always watching. They were almost certainly biding their time, waiting for the day they would swoop in and abduct a small boy like him.
But young boys grow up and childish fears are replaced with real worries: qualifications, a job and making ends meet. Forging a path in this world quickly erases thoughts of other worlds. Little green men are forgotten when there are real aliens lurking.
The corners of Sam’s eyes no-longer looked for danger. Too many threats were right in plain sight: bills, cancer, heartbreak. He did not need to turn and search for others.
I sense in the breeze that I’ve been wintering without knowing it, letting exhausted leaves fall, rooting deep in good ground and gathering myself to emerge and blossom into life.
Everything was changing, something was happening and it had always been that way and neither I nor anyone else would be able to stop it, even if they wanted to.
So looking forward to connecting with a wonderful writing community on Substack. This is perfect timing for me as I'm just reigniting my Substack about writing life in Silverdale near Morecambe Bay: https://thecovecopy.substack.com
The first signs of spring are here with bluebells, birdsong and wild garlic x
So very excited for Spring Light! The Winter Writing Sanctuary did, quite literally, change my life. I'm excited to see what Spring brings. Thank you so much, Beth, for your generosity and your light.
Here's the raw piece from one of the warm-up exercises. I want to craft it into something else but thought I'd try sharing the raw stuff too! I'll be writing over on https://ontheoutside.substack.com
Spring called to me like the blackbird outside of my window that starts out lovely and eventually becomes persistant and almost annoying. Wake up, he sings, wake up, life is here and you need to be in it. Winter is slow to leave my bones, slow to leave my mind. But the blackbird is insistent. He sings and sings and doesn’t care if I haven’t had much sleep or was having the most lovely dream.
That’s the funny thing about the seasons. We always act surprised when they arrive, or when the clocks change, but it happens at the same time, every. single. year.
And wouldn’t we be lost if they didn’t?
Spring called to me like the robins and the wrens dancing in the garden, enjoying their revelry, eager for the rest to join. The squirrels bounded past, reckless and focussed, wondering where in earth they buried those nuts. There’s a stand-off, one day, two greys in the garden staring at each other, how very dare he come into my garden to find my stash. Then one twitches and they’re off, chasing each other in circles around and around before one bounds onto the hedge, into the tree and away. Victory, for now.
Spring called to me like the rain that arrived, a light insistent thing that nevertheless would soak me to the bone. A spring rain always seems to make the world smell so much more than before. The mown grass, the beautiful lilacs, all send their scents to me through the rain. Then the sky darknes and it suddenly rains in a hurry, catching us unawares, sending people hurrying to shelter, exclaiming in wonder at the force of the rain, pulling hoods up and squealing. Spring caught us, taking for granted the longer days, the sunnier weather. Rain like this reminds me it we are caught halfway between winter and summer. One side of the wheel and the opposite. We are on that slippery edge, sometimes drifting into winter, sometimes into summer, but never quite in either.
Spring called to me like the song in my heart to open all the windows, turf out all the clutter and plant every seed I can find in any patch of soil. I want to do everything all at once, to make the most of my days, to stand at the top of my garden, and bury my nose in the blooming wisteria, breathing deep the life and the joy and the world. What will I write in the spring? I will write life. I will write all. I will write. In between, I will plant and create and breathe and LOVE.
Spring always feels more joyous. Perhaps it is the fear of the dark, of the shorter days and longer nights, the animal instinct in us that tells us the dark is dangerous and things lurk there that will harm us (even if it is just a trip over a rock). I wonder how I’d feel if I moved to the southern hemisphere where my seasons are the opposite. March and April would no longer be my springtime, but my autumn. How quickly would my body get used to it? Would it be instinctive, or, like the changing clocks, would it take some time for me to adjust?
Light stretches it's pale, warm limbs across the lush green meadows, as lambs gently call for their mothers' milk and clouds of insects rise on the soft, fragrant breeze.
Young ferns held the anticipation of warmer days ahead in the tightly rolled coils of their uncurled limbs. The world waited patiently for the grand unfurling.
Green is the colour of rising sap, it's the life force moving towards the light. It whispers promises of good times ahead and, in its multitude of tones, it embodies hope and abundance
On the rooftops of Edinburgh the sun warmed my face and soothed the tension in my cheek bones, the breeze gently blowing my hair. It's just what I needed.
In the breeze I sensed the energy of change coming in to fill the momentary pause. "Are you ready?", whispered the breeze in my ear. "Not just yet", I replied, "just a few days more"
I could sense it on the breeze… the woodsmoke brought it closer, that sense of an ending. Time and the fire burned on, blazing bright and hot, until we had nothing left of either.
Laura quietly let herself out. The air was fresh and the path lined with bluebells. The sun made her squint as she dodged a low flying bumblebee. In the distance, a song thrush sang. She took a deep breath. Wrapping her coat around her, she glanced back at the yellow door, lifted the latch and slipped away.
In October 2017, my area of Central Portugal suffered horrific fires, and, while I write regularly, writing about the trauma of the fires, of knowing more than 20 people who lost their homes, and of the memory of 'the morning after' where we all emerged from various states of hell and met in a local village cafe, has left me stumped. But this prompt took me straight there. One line from my notes:
I also perceived that within every ending is a new beginning.
Wonderful to be here! I'm definitely having a Beth start to my year, and it couldn't be better! I'm looking forward to joy of this class.
As part of the warm up for Spring Light this little poem came through
Spring called to me like a bright red tulip
Its vibrant color capturing my attention after a gray winter
The exuberant chatter of birds
Beckoned me to come out and play
I tossed aside my blanket of snow
Stretching
Yawning
Awakening my limbs
A gentle walk through lush green grass
Became a skipping run beside flowering rhododendrons
Sights and sounds sought me out:
Awake and play
Awake and play
Blessed spring arrives today
So off I went
Joints limbering
Smile growing
The sweet scent filling my nose
The soft wind tickling my hair
And the gentle sun warming my back
A loving caress inviting me to bloom
I'm so looking forward to this. I signed up for the winter retreat, but there was a severe winter going on in my head at the time, and I couldn't engage. It's still pretty icy, but some signs of thaw, so I'm eager to explore Spring and all that can mean. I am having some wonderful moments noticing and getting to know spring as it emerges in nature, and am excited to write about it with you all!
Spring Light is here at the perfect time for me - Thank you for this opportunity to learn and be inspired with other writers. My substack ... https://www.oldgrateful.com/ ... explores healing, understanding myself and others, and gratitude. 🐢
So looking forward to the writing week. I am pleased to be here and reinvigorate my writing, as I feel I’ve been a bit stagnant, time for a spring clean 🥰
This has come at the perfect time for me thank you. I begin the relaunch of my therapy business "Cherry Blossom Therapies" from the pink moon next Wednesday, through to the flower moon towards the end of May. Writing is a huge part of my content creation for my business & I am hoping it will help me focus in on what I want Cherry Blossom Therapies to represent.
It is a reflection of my own healing journey & spring to me is like a rebirth. New beginnings, new growth & stretching up towards the sun to absorb the light to help us bloom alongside the blossoming trees & flowers.
My birthday lands towards the end of the course on the 28th April, so it is a wonderful start to my new year of 42yrs young 🌸🪻🌷🌳
Hi.I joined Substack through the Winter Writing Sanctuary and have loved sharing my thoughts and having a place for my writing. I'm in need of a bit of a refresh so this has come at the perfect time.
This is a link to my Substack where you can read some of my stories, extracts from my novels and my new project of finding the stories of the Isle of Axholme where i live and work.https://substack.com/@rebeccakershaw?utm_source=user-menu
I'm looking forward to reading all your posts.
Really enjoying reading Kokoro and looking forward to Spring Light starting. Your writings sanctuarys are very motivating and enjoyable.
Invitation B as part of @Beth Kempton #springlight writing class ✍️ 🌸
Spring called to me
Like an eager mother welcoming me home with open arms
With the promise that better days are coming -
“The blue skies have always been there, my child, but now you can see them more clearly”
I look up to the sun and it calls me -
“Look up and feel me on your skin,
That is spring’s touch promising you that better days are coming”
I hear the birds singing,
I can’t always see them but they’re always there -
“We are the constant melody, singing the promise in the noisy chaos of our world,
That better days are coming”
Fresh notebook, new pens and a healthy supply of teabags...looking forward to a wonderful week of writing.
I started the year with the Winter writing Sanctuary and have creating a daily writing ritual. I am so excited to be writing with Spring light this week as I slowly emerge from my winter cocoon.
I've done your writing sanctuaries for all the seasons except spring, Beth, and I am so looking forward to this one! Tis the season of blossoms, blue skies, nesting birds, and new life. I'm eager to see what will bloom forth from my heart and pen in the coming week, and from other participants. And anyone interested in reading about heartfelt connections to nature and companion animals (horses, dogs, cats etc.) is welcome to join me on my substack https://lindsayhartley.substack.com/ :)
I love Kokoro and am taking my time reading it to let it all sink in, savouring the many beautiful layers in this amazing book. Looking forward to joining Spring Light on Monday. I have recently set up a Substack (@sheofthestones), but have not posted anything yet
Hi all, I'm so happy to be here. I've done a few of Beth's classes now and really enjoyed the writing process. Now with Spring Light I'd like to be brave and share some of my work. Feel like this is a welcoming and nourishing space to do so :) Happy writing everyone xxx
From the first class (Stirring):
I could sense it on the breeze: earth warming, energy rising, new growth and transformation taking place. And I could feel an uprising, a rebellion of sorts taking place inside me too. As rain gently strummed the window, I watched as drops fell on leaves, pressing them in a sequence like the keys of a piano. There in the steady rhythm of nature’s percussion, I found peace in the morning stillness.
Hi everyone, it's so lovely to be here! I'm in rural Aberdeenshire, Scotland, and Spring is definitely not making herself felt here yet this year! There have been some glimmers of hope as the sun flits in and out of the April shower clouds, so I'm keeping everything crossed that it stays a wee bit longer this time.
My writing journey is "ahem" shall we say sporadic. Life keeps getting in the way, allowing imposter syndrome to sneak in, and then I stop writing again. I did start a Substack about a year ago ([substack.com/@thefairmersquine](http://substack.com/@thefairmersquine), but I lost my way with that a wee bit too!
My hope for this Spring Light retreat is to get me back on the proverbial horse again - I'm looking forward to where this journey will take us . . .
I am so thankful for this space and look forward to the community, journey and process as we journey together throughout this sanctuary. What a joy to be here!
I've been loving the audio of Kororo, absolutely wonderful book! The questions and reflections are deeply touching and inspiring. I am full of eager anticipation for Spring Light. I came upon Beth before the winter sanctuary, but my dear mum died just before Christmas and whilst I felt moved to write, I just couldn't engage. I needed to be quiet, alone and deeply reflective rather than following prompts. I have learned much about life and myself this past few months, and am fascinated to see what emerges through the creative process. Thanks Beth for creating this heartfelt offering and caring community.
Starting a bit late, but nonetheless fully vested and eager to begin!
For my day 1 sentence, I wrote a haiku about my snowdrops which have taken over my entire yard since my Okinawan mother-in-law departed this life. Her gardening skills continue to amaze and inspire me. Those snowdrops make me smile and bring me such joy.
The warm rays of sunlight shine
Down upon tiny snowdrops
A miracle from above
And another one just popped into my head:
The delicate white snowdrop
Shows us how we, too,
Can persevere and blossom
☀️🌱✨
I could sense it on the breeze, the chance to float on a new wind, to leave behind the tethers of ego, ambition, even my dreams, and just let the newness of the spring breeze lift and carry me away, wherever the wind blows.
Invitation D: Canopy Greens
Moss hangs, ferns drape, and bushes blossom between evergreens and alders. Blended in these forest hues, a girl cloaked as green as the shrubs with cheeks as perfectly pink as the flowering rosehips, digs under the cover of foliage. She digs because she knows what the wild forest knows, spring can cover, spring can hide. The entangled canopy overhead tells us so. The Lily of the Valley carpeting the once barren forest floor does too.
Known as Sage (a chosen name for her chosen colour palette), this is only the first of her secrets. Fighting back tears as she plunges her shovel straight at the Bleeding Hearts in bloom, she wishes her own bleeding heart could blossom. But not today. Spring has done its job covering. She must do her job burying. Hiding. Protecting.
Spring Light | Day 1
"Better to grow with the season and unfurl in time with the ferns and bluebells and wild garlic, than to be forced like rhubarb in the dark."
I've dusted off Substack and shared the full text over on https://catmwrites.substack.com/p/spring-light?r=24v8hk
I know that even if I live to a hundred, I will always crave another chance to sense the familiar fresh smell of Spring; a hint of daffodil, a touch of wild garlic and most of all, that greenest of scents emanating from new leaves and grass.
“Then Sister Wind whispers: You cannot be contained. Undo yourself.” My line from today. Happy to be here. Welcome and hello to all!
So looking forward to this course, I am going through my own personal spring in my life, with a sense of possibility and hope so this has come at the perfect time. I'm still struggling to stop being so critical with myself, so I intend to go into this course with a completely open mind about what I create. As long as I show up, that's enough
Oh my, today's exercise was sooo much fun! I haven't the faintest idea how what poured out of me poured out of me but it was so fun, I thought I'd share!
The title of my novel is apparently "The lush green life I never lived" and here's my first lines:
She had no idea. She’d wrecked and wrung out her brain over this ever since she was born. Or, as her mother would say, she blossomed into the world, never ever to wilt or perish.
At times, it felt like the biggest burden. Ever Blossom. No way out of ever, never being allowed the joy of simply budding, or actually just hibernating, considering if and when to blossom ever again.
Other times felt like a premonition, a pre-carved path.
And other times still, she felt like a bubblegum.
I hope you're having as much fun with this as I did!! Lots of love to all of you on here!
https://open.substack.com/pub/wendycgreen/p/spring-called-to-me-like?r=15fcl1&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
I'm being brave and starting a substack although I've no idea how it works yet but I'm sure it'll be fun learning. I'm hoping I've added a link to something I wrote for Spring called to me like...
Hello fellow writers and dreamers:) I Have just this week started writing on Substack
so this is perfect:) looking forward to writing with spring in our hearts with you all 🌸
Looking forward to starting Spring Light
I could sense it on the breeze, the soft stirrings of springs midlife crisis. A calling to be part of it all before the freshness fades, the tattered tulips collapse and the blossom falls. An invitation to join the party now. Not wait until tomorrow to worship the extraordinary transformation about my feet. Bombard my senses with celebration for new life , I am ready ! All I need to do is make time every day to stand on the earth and notice, allow myself to soak up the wonder. Nature seems far better at celebrating the arrival of this season. Birds sing for joy along with alarm calls and boasting ‘I’m over here’ type calls. It’s humbling they make the time in their busy nest building schedule to feel the spring sensation. How do we mark its arrival ? Mowing, strimmjng, weeding and tidying. I throw down my to do list and stride out of my workload and enter the bliss of pausing to be part of the Spring energy rising. The present moment is as fragile as a dandelion seed in my palm , twitching to fly free.
Despite being tired and drained from a long day travelling, Invitation C was calling. It's so wonderful to have this space to slow down and reconnect.
My single sentence:
The sun slows her arc across the deep blue atmosphere, painting shadows and rainbows, warming bones and wet earth, sparking songs in every dawn and blushes in every sunset, coaxing life forth from every corner and tired body.
Invitation D (all in the details) went an unusual direction for me when the colour green, lead to the title: Little Green Men. In the spirit of just going with the flow I went with it though and here's the beginning of my story:
When he was young, Sam worried about the little green men. He saw them everywhere: lurking in the trees that edged the park; hiding between tins of canned vegetables in the supermarket, peering through classroom windows at the school children beavering away within.
They were always spied out of the corner of his eye and, when he turned to see more, they were gone. Perhaps they had some out-of-this world technology that shielded them from direct scrutiny. Perhaps they scurried away at the speed of light before a human could so much as turn their head. Or perhaps their telepathic senses knew you were about to look before you had even moved a single muscle.
It didn’t matter to Sam.
They were there. They were always watching. They were almost certainly biding their time, waiting for the day they would swoop in and abduct a small boy like him.
But young boys grow up and childish fears are replaced with real worries: qualifications, a job and making ends meet. Forging a path in this world quickly erases thoughts of other worlds. Little green men are forgotten when there are real aliens lurking.
The corners of Sam’s eyes no-longer looked for danger. Too many threats were right in plain sight: bills, cancer, heartbreak. He did not need to turn and search for others.
And that, perhaps, was his first mistake …
I sense in the breeze that I’ve been wintering without knowing it, letting exhausted leaves fall, rooting deep in good ground and gathering myself to emerge and blossom into life.
In the wind it is written
hope has arrived to heal
let the breeze blow through
let life live through you
Gratitude for Spring Light
1.1 Invitation C: Something In the Wind
Everything was changing, something was happening and it had always been that way and neither I nor anyone else would be able to stop it, even if they wanted to.
I am secure in life
.... and I dissolve in life to blossom.
The breeze gently whispers the plants sway its an early morning dance to welcome the day.
My sentence from Invitation C:
I took a breath, and inhaled the sweet, pungent, spicy fragrance into the deepest parts of my delighted being; my bones trembling with gratitude.
So looking forward to connecting with a wonderful writing community on Substack. This is perfect timing for me as I'm just reigniting my Substack about writing life in Silverdale near Morecambe Bay: https://thecovecopy.substack.com
The first signs of spring are here with bluebells, birdsong and wild garlic x
So very excited for Spring Light! The Winter Writing Sanctuary did, quite literally, change my life. I'm excited to see what Spring brings. Thank you so much, Beth, for your generosity and your light.
Here's the raw piece from one of the warm-up exercises. I want to craft it into something else but thought I'd try sharing the raw stuff too! I'll be writing over on https://ontheoutside.substack.com
Spring called to me like the blackbird outside of my window that starts out lovely and eventually becomes persistant and almost annoying. Wake up, he sings, wake up, life is here and you need to be in it. Winter is slow to leave my bones, slow to leave my mind. But the blackbird is insistent. He sings and sings and doesn’t care if I haven’t had much sleep or was having the most lovely dream.
That’s the funny thing about the seasons. We always act surprised when they arrive, or when the clocks change, but it happens at the same time, every. single. year.
And wouldn’t we be lost if they didn’t?
Spring called to me like the robins and the wrens dancing in the garden, enjoying their revelry, eager for the rest to join. The squirrels bounded past, reckless and focussed, wondering where in earth they buried those nuts. There’s a stand-off, one day, two greys in the garden staring at each other, how very dare he come into my garden to find my stash. Then one twitches and they’re off, chasing each other in circles around and around before one bounds onto the hedge, into the tree and away. Victory, for now.
Spring called to me like the rain that arrived, a light insistent thing that nevertheless would soak me to the bone. A spring rain always seems to make the world smell so much more than before. The mown grass, the beautiful lilacs, all send their scents to me through the rain. Then the sky darknes and it suddenly rains in a hurry, catching us unawares, sending people hurrying to shelter, exclaiming in wonder at the force of the rain, pulling hoods up and squealing. Spring caught us, taking for granted the longer days, the sunnier weather. Rain like this reminds me it we are caught halfway between winter and summer. One side of the wheel and the opposite. We are on that slippery edge, sometimes drifting into winter, sometimes into summer, but never quite in either.
Spring called to me like the song in my heart to open all the windows, turf out all the clutter and plant every seed I can find in any patch of soil. I want to do everything all at once, to make the most of my days, to stand at the top of my garden, and bury my nose in the blooming wisteria, breathing deep the life and the joy and the world. What will I write in the spring? I will write life. I will write all. I will write. In between, I will plant and create and breathe and LOVE.
Spring always feels more joyous. Perhaps it is the fear of the dark, of the shorter days and longer nights, the animal instinct in us that tells us the dark is dangerous and things lurk there that will harm us (even if it is just a trip over a rock). I wonder how I’d feel if I moved to the southern hemisphere where my seasons are the opposite. March and April would no longer be my springtime, but my autumn. How quickly would my body get used to it? Would it be instinctive, or, like the changing clocks, would it take some time for me to adjust?
Just completed Day 1. 🙏
Stiring...
Light stretches it's pale, warm limbs across the lush green meadows, as lambs gently call for their mothers' milk and clouds of insects rise on the soft, fragrant breeze.
I could sense it on the breeze.... …. the birth of the new. New hopes, new dreams, a new path, yet to be trodden into the grass. Freshness. Newness.
From Invitation C:
Young ferns held the anticipation of warmer days ahead in the tightly rolled coils of their uncurled limbs. The world waited patiently for the grand unfurling.
Hi everybody, so glad to be part of this wonderful Spring Light class 🙏 You can find me on Substack https://open.substack.com/pub/juffieg/p/de-roep-van-de-lente?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=37ewfb
Green is the colour of rising sap, it's the life force moving towards the light. It whispers promises of good times ahead and, in its multitude of tones, it embodies hope and abundance
A little something from Stirring. 🌱
On the rooftops of Edinburgh the sun warmed my face and soothed the tension in my cheek bones, the breeze gently blowing my hair. It's just what I needed.
In the breeze I sensed the energy of change coming in to fill the momentary pause. "Are you ready?", whispered the breeze in my ear. "Not just yet", I replied, "just a few days more"
I could sense it on the breeze… the woodsmoke brought it closer, that sense of an ending. Time and the fire burned on, blazing bright and hot, until we had nothing left of either.
green leaves reach for sun
sparrow eyes up nesting spot
ivy’s vigil done
I’ve edited my haiku …..
life infusing air
quickens hermit existence
blue sky resounding
I really enjoyed today's session.
Invitation D - All in the details
The Yellow Door
Laura quietly let herself out. The air was fresh and the path lined with bluebells. The sun made her squint as she dodged a low flying bumblebee. In the distance, a song thrush sang. She took a deep breath. Wrapping her coat around her, she glanced back at the yellow door, lifted the latch and slipped away.
I've also shared the two warm up exercises on my substack today - https://catmwrites.substack.com/p/noticing
In October 2017, my area of Central Portugal suffered horrific fires, and, while I write regularly, writing about the trauma of the fires, of knowing more than 20 people who lost their homes, and of the memory of 'the morning after' where we all emerged from various states of hell and met in a local village cafe, has left me stumped. But this prompt took me straight there. One line from my notes:
I also perceived that within every ending is a new beginning.
Thanks Beth!