The Reckless Seizure of Spring

Reckless Poem

Today again I am hardly myself. It happens over and over. It is heaven-sent.

It flows through me like the blue wave. Green leaves — you may believe this or not —have once or twice emerged from the tips of my fingers

somewhere deep in the woods, in the reckless seizure of spring.

-Mary Oliver

Today I spent nearly the whole day wandering in the spring woods, letting the forest set the pace. Last Saturday, I was delighted by piles of turtles basking lazily on sun-warmed logs, their shells shining like little stones by the water. This week, almost as soon as I entered the trees, I was greeted by a pair of groundhogs hard at work, digging in the soft earth. The moment they noticed me, they froze completely like two small statues in the undergrowth, utterly convinced that stillness could make them invisible.

As I wandered deeper, the birdsong rose around me like a chorus welcoming the season. Robins called from the branches, song sparrows stitched their bright melodies through the air, ducks drifted nearby, and of course, the geese made sure their presence was loudly known. Spring feels like everything is stirring, singing, digging, basking, returning. The woods are waking, and each walk feels like being invited to witness the quiet magic of it.

The spring ephemerals were rising everywhere, quietly pushing their tender forms up through the decaying leaves & damp earth. I could hardly believe the transformation since last Saturday. It was as though the forest had taken a deep breath & awakened overnight. Bright yellow coltsfoot glowed along the edges of the stream like little suns. Bloodroot bloomed in soft white carpets across the forest floor, delicate and luminous against the brown remains of winter. I always feel a rush of joy when I find these tiny harbingers of spring. I drop to my knees without thinking, drawn closer just to look, to photograph, to sketch, to simply be near them.

I came across an old bird’s nest, quietly cradled in the branches like a small forgotten home from last season. In the vernal ponds, ducks busily pecked away at the soft mud, clearly searching for some hidden delicacy the spring waters had offered up. The turtles were once again lined up along their favourite sun-warmed log, as faithful to their ritual as ever, while others moved silently beneath the water’s surface like small ancient beings gliding through the shallows of this waking world.

On Saturday, May 9th—Mother’s Day weekend—I invite you to join Sophie Monkman and myself as we walk these woods with reverence, curiosity, and love, in honour of the greatest mother of all, Mother Earth.

Together, we will step away from our screens and the noise of daily life to reconnect with ourselves and listen more deeply to the many textures, colours, and quiet conversations of the forest. Slowing down enough to truly enter the landscape changes something within us—it softens the breath, alters perception, and reminds us of our belonging within the living world.

Spring is a season of return, of tender shoots rising from dark soil, of birdsong filling the morning air, of water moving again, of life insisting on itself. To walk gently among these ephemeral gifts is to remember that we, too, are part of this great unfolding.

Sophie and I have collaborated to create a soothing two-hour forest bathing experience rooted in deep listening, presence, and attunement with the emerging spring ephemerals. Sophie will gently guide the walk, while I will offer a few simple drawing and painting exercises designed to awaken observation, curiosity, and that beautiful shift in energy that happens when we truly tune in to the natural world.

It is a beautiful way to spend a couple of hours and both to honour the mothers in our lives, and the great mother who holds us all. To touch the earth and feel her softness as she awakens beneath the warmth of the spring sun, and to return home feeling a little more rooted, a little more alive.

A simple blind contour drawing of a small piece of the forest around you can become a powerful act of connection—your hand moving slowly, your eyes truly seeing, your body settling into the place where you stand. Add a few playful watercolours, and suddenly you are no longer just observing the forest, but responding to it—through movement, colour, shape, and feeling.

There will be moments for poetry, for silence, and for quiet reflection—small invitations to listen more deeply to both the land and yourself.

All of it is designed to nourish the heart and soul, and to gently guide us back into relationship with the real world—the living, breathing planet we all share.

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