Day Three: On the Wintering of The Soul
Our First Annual Lunar New Year Journaling Challenge
Have you ever looked closely at trees in the winter?
We tend to appreciate the blossom and beauty of trees in the Spring or Autumn when their leaves are lavishly colorful or full. But a fascinating, hidden process is happening during the winter months when most trees lay nearly barren.
In Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times, Katherine May writes:
The dropping of leaves by deciduous trees is called abscission. It occurs on the cusp between autumn and winter, as part of an arc of growth, maturity, and renewal. In spring and summer, leaf cells are full of chlorophyll, a bright green substance that absorbs sunlight, fueling the process that converts carbon dioxide and water into the starch and sugar that allow the tree to grow. But at the end of the summer, as the days grow shorter and the temperature falls, deciduous trees stop making food. In the absence of sunlight, it becomes too costly to maintain the machinery of growth. The chlorophyll begins to break down, revealing other colours that were always present in the leaf, but which were masked by the abundance of green pigment: oranges and yellows, derived from carotene and xanthophyll.
But while this is happening, a layer of cells is weakening between the stem and the branch: this is called the abscission zone. Gradually it severs the leaf from access to water, and the leaf dries and browns and in most cases falls off, either under its own weight or encouraged by wintery rains and winds. Within a few hours, the tree will have released substances to heal the scar the leaf has left, protecting itself from the evaporation of water, infection, or the invasion of parasites.
The tree is waiting. It has everything ready. Its fallen leaves are mulching the forest floor, and its roots are drawing up the extra winter moisture, providing a firm anchor against seasonal storms. Its ripe cones and nuts are providing essential food in this scarce time for mice and squirrels, and its bark is hosting hibernating insects and providing a source of nourishment for hungry deer. It is far from dead. It is in fact the life and soul of the wood. It’s just getting on with it quietly. It will not burst into life in the spring. It will just put on a new coat and face the world again.
I love peering into this window of the winter tree: she is not dead; she is waiting, patiently.
What if we turned that metaphor towards ourselves? Honored this season for what it is, or perhaps what it could be - a wintering of the soul. A gentle, natural process of waiting, shedding, and growing.
Let May’s gentle words lead us into our third day of journaling.
Day Three Lunar New Year Journaling Prompt:
Wintering isn’t just a season—it’s a state of being. It’s the quiet pause, the inward retreat, the necessary slowing down before renewal. Just as nature rests before spring’s bloom, we, too, have seasons of stillness and introspection.
✨ Reflect & Write:
What does “wintering” mean to you in this moment of your life?
In what ways have you been resisting it and why?
What, if anything, is this winter trying to teach you?
May this be an invitation to each of you to lean into rest, trusting that growth is happening beneath the surface.
Love,
Summer