The Gentle Unfolding of Spring

After what felt like an endless stretch of cold, grey days, I noticed something small and quietly hopeful on my regular walk: tiny green shoots pushing up from the earth beside the path. At first, just a few. Then, little by little, more appeared and the green multiplied. Now, a lush carpet of wild garlic spreads across the woodland floor.

Next will come the flowers—white stars beginning to bloom. One or two, then a few more, and soon the whole green canvas will be speckled with delicate white, like snow returning in another form. It happens gradually, almost imperceptibly, but with steady assurance.

This slow, gentle rhythm of the natural world stands in contrast to the busy pace of everyday life. When my to-do list feels never-ending, and a speedy edginess creeps into my day, I can feel myself rushing—pushing for progress, trying to do more, attempting to ‘get on top of things’.  But nature doesn’t rush.

The wild garlic doesn’t bloom all at once. The seasons don’t change overnight. And when I walk among these signs of spring, I’m reminded that unfolding can be slow. That slow isn’t wrong. In fact, slow can be wise.

These moments in nature invite me to pause. To take a breath. To trust that gentle, incremental steps can lead to meaningful progress. That ideas and plans, like wildflowers, bloom in their own time.

So as the earth softens and spring opens up around us, I’m holding on to this quiet knowing: we don’t have to force things. We can allow them to unfold.

Just like spring does.

Wild Garlic in Spring