Small Joys, New Roots

There’s something about this time of year that feels like a quiet exhale. Spring is just on the horizon and new life is on the verge of budding. The light lingers a little longer. The mornings feel less heavy. Everything seems brighter.

And I’ve started to notice small joys . Little moments that just make me smile.

Opening my windows on spontaneous rainy nights.

Breathing in the fresh air as it drifts into my apartment.

Baking bread in the late night hours and trusting myself through the process.

Cooking a meal and savoring the leftovers.

Late night conversations with babe and naked cuddles under warm covers.

Celebrating poetry book anniversaries and revisiting the words in my books.

Simple. Quiet. Small joys.

I think growth is often like this — not loud, but soft and steady. Rooted. Almost invisible at first. The kind that happens underground before anything blooms.

The kind of growth I’ve been craving.

More mornings that feel intentional instead of rushed.

More presence. Less technology.

More laughter over meals.

More genuine connection.

More space in my schedule for rest, rooted in intention.

More memories made in private with people I love dearly.

I’m being transferred to a new pot with fresh soil. And patiently allowing my roots to deepen throughout this season of growth.

Spring doesn’t demand. It unfolds.

And I think I am, too.

Photo by Olivia Rosth, @oliviarosth