Summer Touchstone

How is it possible that it’s taken me 43 years to notice the blossoms on a dogwood tree?

Every morning, I walk my dog, Luna, on the same four-kilometer route through my neighbourhood of 1950’s bungalows and mature suburban gardens. Lately, my daily routine has been quieter than usual with my studies on pause and my partner away for work. With the extra space, I’m finding intentional room for things like inspiring podcasts, deeper yoga practices, and writing this newsletter, of course. In the same vein, I’ve been trying to ritualize my morning walks with Luna by seeing them as less of a duty and more of a practice of presence. I choose to walk the same route every morning because I appreciate how this builds the relationship to my neighbourhood. I love to nod hello to neighbours on the same schedule, follow along on house renovation projects, and watch people’s gardens grow.

Recently, I was stopped on my walk by the beauty of a tree covered in white, flat flowers that sat atop platters of leaves, as if presenting delicate gifts of early summer to passers-by. I thought that this must be a rare, ornamental plant that the homeowners had ordered from an exotic place. But then, a few houses down, I walked past another just like it, and then another, and another. How have I not noticed this every June for the past six years of living here? Of course, I immediately wanted to buy one for our yard - to own and harness its flowers for my coveted pleasure. And then this morning, I saw petals in the grass and remembered the brevity of nature’s treasures.

This experience was reminiscent of the year, in my early thirties, when I began a dedicated meditation practice. That October, I noticed the leaves change color for the first time. In years prior, I would swear that one day the trees were green and the next, the branches were just bare, agreeing with everyone who said, “Time sure flies, huh?” as we blindly moved towards winter. I was unaware of my inattention until I steeped in the crimson and gold throughout that seasonal shift. I felt joy for this new pace and sadness for the years that mindlessly sped by. I vowed then to remain present, yet still, somehow, I’ve missed the blooming dogwoods now.

I’ve noticed that the milestones of my personal growth always seem to be externally reflected in my relationship to the natural world. I have so many stories of hikes and mountains and waterfalls that have profoundly affected me and guided my path. But today, I want to leave you with my story of the dogwood to take from it what you will. For me, it’s offered pause for reflection on the importance of slowing down, of ritualizing my space, of looking for the beauty, and of letting go.

I hope summer is bringing you the expanse, connection, and inspiration that only this season can uniquely deliver. I encourage you to check in with your commitments and find space to stretch your awareness and absorb nature’s generous abundance - just don't hold too tightly. If you’d like to check in with me, my reduced summer school schedule has allowed me to open extra availability in July and August. I would love to see you in your summer glow.
 
Peace, love, and blossoms in the sunshine,
Alicia