Spring, Grief, and the Gentle Return of Color

On first flowers and finding a way forward

Hi friends,

This past week, I saw my first spring flower.
Just a little bloom, quiet and stubborn. It caught me by surprise, growing out of a patch of crusty, dead leaves where winter was still trying to linger.

And my heart cracked open a bit.

Grief.

It wraps itself around time, slowing it down, stretching it out, folding it in strange directions. It can make the bright days feel heavy, and the quiet ones feel loud. I’ve been carrying the weight of loss lately—my step-dad passed not long ago, and in the wake of that, everything felt still. Or maybe I just stopped moving.

But this little flower. It was still growing.
And the world, somehow, was still turning.

This is going in my sketchbook

Spring is like that. It doesn’t wait until you’re ready. It just begins again. The buds show up. The light shifts. The color creeps back in, even if your heart still feels grey around the edges.

Seeing that flower reminded me that there is space to be sad and hopeful at the same time. That life and grief can sit side by side. That beginnings don’t need announcements they just need space.

So this week, I’m letting that flower be my reminder: Start small.
Begin again. Let the color return, one petal at a time.

Thanks for being here with me while I find my path.

~Kathleen