Every year, it happens. I wake up one day, step outside, and boom—spring awakening has begun. Not just on the calendar, but in the air, in the dirt, in my bones.

I can feel it.

The earth stretches after months of cold sleep, and so do I.

The trees start their quiet work, pushing out tiny leaves like green confetti. The grass gets braver, growing a little taller, a little wilder.

Birds get loud again, yelling about whatever birds yell about.

The air smells different, like something alive. The world, once silent and stiff, starts moving again.

And I notice.

Not just in passing, not just in the background of my busy mind.

I stop.

I watch.

I listen.

It’s impossible not to. Spring demands attention without ever raising its voice.

Spring awakening: a rebirth of the spirit

Spring is far more than just a changing of seasons; it’s a rebirth of the spirit.

I feel it in the way my body wants to stretch longer in the morning, in the way my feet itch to walk farther than usual, in the way my thoughts seem a little lighter.

Something inside me is melting, just like the ground. I don’t realise how frozen I’ve been all winter until I feel the warmth again.

Not in some dramatic, life-changing way.

But I do notice things more. I hear the wind, actually hear it. It doesn’t just push against me—I feel how it moves, how it whispers through the branches, how it carries the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves.

Growth is everywhere

I adore this time of year.

I adore how the world stretches and wakes up, how everything grows.

And I remind myself: I am part of “everything.” 

I grow too. Maybe I breathe a little deeper.

And I look at the trees. The trees do not rush. The grass does not check its watch to see if it is late. Nature happens in its own time, in its own way. I think that I need to do the same.

Spring awakening: being in the moment of the season

Spring doesn‘t need everything.

Just that we notice. That we are in it, fully, for a moment. That we stop and look at the way sunlight filters through new leaves, or the way birds argue in the trees, or the way the air is soft instead of biting.

I let myself be here. In this season. In this moment. The world is unfolding, and I am too.

And last but not least: in invitation

So, go outside. Breathe. 

Feel the sun‘s warmth on your skin, listen to the birds singing their wild songs, watch the wind whispering through the trees.

Let yourself be present in this season. Put down your phone for a moment, take a deep breath, and be here.

Spring is going to happen with or without you—but I promise, it‘s prettier if you do.