Not Later, But Now

For a while now, I’ve carried a quiet intention:
to spend more time in nature — not just walking through it, but working with it.
To be part of something restorative, to give back to the land in small, steady ways.

I’ve told myself that this kind of thing belongs to the “next season” of life.
When things slow down. When the pace eases. When time opens up.

But what if the next season can begin now, and I’m just waiting for it to introduce itself?
So I’ve decided to begin with one day.
One day each month — drawn from the leave I’ve accumulated but never used —
to step out of my usual rhythm and into the living classroom of the bush.
To join a local regeneration group. To dig and weed and plant and learn.
To give back to land that has given so much.
To begin living a vision now, rather than postponing it into abstraction.

This is not a dramatic change.
It’s one day out of thirty.
But I suspect it will shift something deep.

Because this one day reminds me that the future isn’t a destination — it’s something I’m already shaping.
It offers me a way of resting that is active, and acting that is restful.
It connects me to others who care about the land, and to the land itself in ways that words can’t fully hold.
It teaches me to measure time not by urgency, but by rootedness.

In the quiet, deliberate work of bush regeneration,
I begin to regenerate something in myself:
a slower pace,
a cleaner attention,
a renewed sense of agency,
and the deep joy of starting — not later, but now.

Tending What Matters

Not a new life,
just one day.

One day to leave the desk,
to loosen weeds,
to plant something
quiet and lasting.

I won’t save the world,
but I might clear a path—
in the bush,
and in myself.

I’ve waited for “later”
long enough.
Now, I begin
with one day.

And let the land
do its slow work
in me.