Hope in a Snowy Landscape
The snowflakes began their soft descent overnight and by morning the landscape was blanketed with the thick white hush—uncommon on the typically mild and rainy West Coast of Canada. I stepped outside, breathing the icy air and treading carefully as my boots crunched through the icy crust, and was surprised by the sense of calm connection and centredness I felt.
I plunged a ruler into the fluffy pile on the table and registered a shocking eleven inches of snow! Clearly Nature follows her own rules and our human wishes are of no consequence to her—she follows her own timeline and ancient rhythms.
Yet, this day marked Imbolc and the first signs of Spring! The frosty peace and stillness before me said that even though the day may mark the first stirrings of Spring, Winter still holds us in her embrace.
Imbolc is the midpoint between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox, and is traditionally celebrated on February 1st or 2nd, or by an astrological point. Personally, I like to align with the changes I see in nature and the shifts I feel within myself— as though awakening from a Winter slumber— and I feel that Imbolc is less a defined date and more a period of liminal time that celebrates the signs of new life beginning to emerge.
What a striking contradiction I saw as I looked around the garden! The snow blanketed the landscape in stillness, yet beneath its surface, the earth was quietly preparing for the growth of Spring.
Here Nature was mirroring the transitions in our lives and the duality we’re often asked to hold. Modern culture urges us to launch into the new year with resolutions and goals, yet the depth and darkness of Winter encourage us to rest, reflect, and gather our resources for the coming seasons. The wisdom of Winter invites us to pause and to then emerge and move forward gently with intention, dismissing any sense of urgency.
This year I’ve felt Winter’s pull to stillness more strongly, and in journalling around this over the past weeks, the metaphor of the seed has been very present. Many times I’ve reminded myself that growth begins in the darkness. Seeds lie dormant beneath frozen soil, holding within them all that they need to flourish. They wait for their right time to break through the surface and begin their season of growth and blossoming.
These stirrings of life are often unseen, lying hidden beneath the surface. Like these seeds, our own power and potential is within us, waiting to shoot forth and take root when conditions are right. And just like these seeds, our own internal transformations and profound shifts take root long before they are visible or even conscious.
This time of Imbolc is a sacred liminal time of preparation. Now we are invited to clear the metaphorical debris of Winter to make space to consider the dreams that are quietly forming beneath the surface. We are invited to get quiet so we can hear the whispers of change that are asking for attention. And we are invited to plant our seeds of intention and inspiration for the growing seasons.
Imbolc is a time that our ancients celebrated the rekindling of the flame of hope that the light and warmth of the sun is returning. To me, the delicacy of hope was reflected in the snowy landscape.
I’ve been thinking about the concept of hope a lot lately after realizing that it’s something I struggle with. A few weeks ago in a study group we discussed the idea of hope and how we see it for ourselves personally. I was interested to see that while I knew I had a bit of a tricky relationship with hope, I’d never defined it for myself.
I’ve realized that for me hope had been entangled with expectation, which ultimately brought disappointment if the desired outcome didn’t unfold. What I’ve come to see is that hope is like a path lined with the light of possibilities. What if instead of tying hope to a particular result, I could experience it as being open to possibility? I’ll admit that this is a work in progress!
While Imbolc is a time to celebrate rekindling the spark of hope, optimism and inspiration, I recognize that in a world that can feel heavy, connecting to hope can be challenging. I believe this is when turning to Nature can help, as she reminds me that even in the depths of winter, new life is unfolding—Nature embodies the hope of what is yet to come.
My own journey of late has reminded me that in addition to connecting to Nature, we each have a set of tools that can bring us joy and comfort, and help to spark our light of hope. While journalling, art, aromatherapy, garden time, and gentle movement are foundations for me, other creative practices are equally nourishing. This in-between- seasons time invites me to create, as though each twist of fibre, each word, or each quiet breath with an aromatic ally is my way of honouring the season’s call for stillness and introspection— and even more importantly, of honouring myself by making space to listen to my heart’s whispers.
Each of us has our own unique set of tools, and whether your creativity and self-expression come through writing, art, cooking, music, dance, building, gardening, time outdoors, or…, now is the time to lean into these practices.
But isn’t it interesting how easy it can be to forget our tools when we’re “in it”. How is it that a Professional Aromatherapist can forget the power of scent for herself?!
I’m often asked about aromatherapy and essential oils for Winter support—not just for immune protection, but also for emotional well-being. This time of year can feel heavy, especially under our cement-grey West Coast skies, and so I often suggest the sunny citrus essential oils. I call them sunny because these fruits grow in warm climates and absorb all the vitality of the sun’s energy into their skin, which is where we extract their essential oils. These aromatics bring a sense of warmth and carry a natural brightness that can lift the spirit.
My absolute favourite is Bergamot (Citrus bergamia), which I often call “joy in a bottle”. Bergamot has a strong affinity to hope, and is a beautiful harmonizer that can lighten our hearts and bring a sense of positivity and calm.
Orange essential oil (Citrus sinensis) is another wonderful choice—it’s nearly impossible not to smile when you smell it! Most of us have a memory associated with orange and if it’s a pleasant one, all the more reason to open that bottle and breathe.
In times of anxiety, Lavender (Lavandula angustifolia) and Neroli (Citrus aurantium) are both clinically proven* to ease stress and nervous tension, calming the mind and lifting the spirit.
For those drawn to deeper work, Clary Sage (Salvia sclarea) is a powerful ally that supports relaxation and an increased sense of well-being, and enhances intuition and connection to divine feminine energies.
As always, when using essential oils, it’s important to know that they’re safe for you. If you’re unsure, consult a professional aromatherapist (you’re always welcome to reach out to me). Inhalation is my favourite way to work with essential oils, and this is especially true for citrus oils which can be phototoxic if applied to skin before sun exposure.
Working with aromatics is a beautiful way to care for ourselves on all levels of our being. Scent can provide an anchor —to Nature, and to our inner world and highest Self, and this helps us remember that even in the darkness of winter, light is returning.
Standing in the snow-covered garden, I was struck by the sense of peace and how this season is about ease and comfort, not forcing growth. This is a time for lovingly tending what is softly unfolding. As the quiet unseen growth takes root, we prepare, we nurture the soil, and we trust.
We can approach our own growth with this same gentleness and patience— honouring ourselves and the work we’ve put into our becoming, by nurturing our heart and spirit.
This season whispers that change has begun, even though it is still unseen. As we rest in this liminal time of Imbolc and prepare to walk through the threshold of Spring, my invitation is to consider:
What quiet shifts can you sense stirring within you?
What tools do you already have that help you reconnect with joy, inspiration, and your spark of hope? How can you now lean into these practices?
What are the seeds, both physical and metaphorical, that are asking to be planted for the season ahead?
The timing of this unusual snowstorm reminded me that even in the depths of winter, new life is stirring beneath the surface. And so it is within me, and all of us.
May we be gentle with ourselves and trust the timing of our own unfolding. May we tenderly hold the light of hope. May we emerge from our Winter rest and step forward with the quiet knowing that the promise of Spring, within and without, is already on its way.
"May we be gentle with ourselves and trust the timing of our own unfolding. May we tenderly hold the light of hope. May we emerge from our Winter rest and step forward with the quiet knowing that the promise of Spring, within and without, is already on its way."
Yes sister, May it be so. I resonated deeply with your reflections here Tracey. Thank you for writing and sharing.