Everywhere you go, the plants are holding you.
They are the grandparents. The caretakers. The ones that make our lives possible. From the houses that we live in, to the fuel we pour into our cars, to the food we eat and the air we breathe. They are here for you.
And every time you are rocked by a force that comes into your life overnight, stripping you of stable ground, there is a world of quiet green giants, and of tiny tendrils both, that will see you and accept the storm within you— will love you exactly as you are.
It’s been a mercurial spring for us here in the mountains. Sunlit days of short sleeves in January and snow whirling alongside the blossoms of late March. The weather, like our own healing paths, seems to be always moving in a spiral.
Asia Suler on Northlight "the muted green of lichen on a quiet tree. It is unglazed porcelain. Northlight is the diffuse incandescence coming through your blankets in the morning— and it is a cocoon for creativity."