Sometimes, when it’s grey and cold outside, I spend hours looking at flowers.
Not just because they’re beautiful, but because they remind me that everything moves in cycles. The seasons change.
The world shifts.
One day, the trees are bare, the wind howls, and everything feels still and heavy. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, buds appear, colors burst forth, and life moves forward again.
I’ve always been fascinated by the way we mark the seasons—not just by the calendar, but in the subtle shifts we notice in the air. We talk about how spring came early or how we caught a few golden autumn days tucked into summer’s final stretch. We observe, we reflect, we feel. I, personally, usually capture these moments behind the camera, savoring them for days like today.
And lately, I’ve been thinking about how people are like seasons too.
How our emotions, our energy, our sense of self—they all cycle through, just like the weather.
The rise, the crest, the fall.
Grief, especially, moves this way.
It rises, sharp and sudden, like the first gust of wind before a storm. It builds, cresting like a wave, knocking the breath from our lungs. And then, just when we think we might never surface, it begins to recede; pulling back, quieting, making room for something softer.
Until it rises again.
Because grief doesn’t disappear. It doesn’t have a neat beginning, middle, and end. It lingers in the in-between, ebbing and flowing, shifting between loud and quiet, between weightless and unbearable. It sneaks up on us in the most unexpected ways…through a song, a scent, a memory that catches us off guard.
Some days, it’s just a whisper.
Other days, it crashes over us, leaving us gasping for air.
I’ve always deeply resonated with the song “It Comes and Goes in Waves” because that’s exactly how it feels. The crest and the fall. The drowning and the floating. The stillness in between.
Sitting in the season.
Today is grey.
Today my heart aches.
Today is for extra flowers.
Today is for letting the emotions rise without fear, for riding the waves instead of fighting them. For allowing the heaviness to sit beside me without trying to push it away.
I think there’s something powerful in giving ourselves permission to feel. To not fight against the season we’re in, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it feels endless.
Because winter never lasts forever.
Because the flowers always bloom again.
Because tomorrow, maybe the weight will lift just a little.
Maybe the sun will peek through. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll exhale and find that we’re already on our way to the next season.
And until then?
We sit with it. We honor it. We let ourselves be human.
We let ourselves grieve, knowing that grief is just love that has nowhere to go.
We let ourselves ache, knowing that pain is proof that something mattered.
We let ourselves rest, knowing that even the heaviest emotions soften with time.
And when the time is right, when the air shifts and the ground warms and the buds start to bloom again, we step forward, not leaving the past behind, but carrying it with us in new and gentle ways.
Because healing isn’t about forgetting.
It’s about learning how to live with the seasons of feeling, trusting that even in the darkest winters, spring will always come again.
And so we keep going.
Even when it’s grey.
Even when it’s cold.
Even when the flowers are still just a memory.
Just Amazing