A Gathering
What an incredible shared space the Water Works has become.
There are the familiar morning walkers who pass through as often as we do. Dogs we’ve come to know by name. A steady exchange of “good morning” with just about everyone along the way.
And then there is this kind of movement.
Not all at once, and certainly not in any kind of hurry. If you stopped long enough to pay attention, the distance between this family of geese and our presence slowly widened as we moved closer.
You stay there, and we’ll stay here, seemed to be the message.
No instruction to create space, just a quiet understanding, letting the water carry them away.
There we all were.
A quiet gathering, already underway.
Not just the new family of geese showing up. Not just the buds beginning to open, leaves starting to take shape, but something beneath all of it.
A shift that doesn’t announce itself. It simply appears in small ways until one day you realize how much has changed right in front of you.
The light at both ends of the day begins to grow.
The air softens, just enough to notice.
Things are loosening up. No longer holding back from what comes next.
When a new season arrives, we tend to notice the obvious.
The color. The warmth. The familiar return of what we’ve been missing.
But it’s not only about what appears.
It’s what begins.
Movement that doesn’t feel forced.
Growth that doesn’t ask for permission.
A quiet recognition to something that has already changed.
The geese didn’t ask for direction. They didn’t wait for a signal or gather with intention. They simply moved, each in their own way, and somehow remained together.
Not in big, obvious moments, but in the steady return of rhythm. In the way we begin to step back into things without fully realizing it. In the way life gathers again, piece by piece, without asking to be noticed.
Spring doesn’t create the movement.
It allows it.
And maybe that’s what this feels like, not the season itself, but the quiet permission it gives for things to begin again.
Talk soon…
G