I’m still learning my own patterns. The deepest parts of winter, it seems, are quiet parts for me. Caves. Early nights. Not sure where the sky ends or where the ground begins. Not alone or lonely. Not making or consuming. No fires or bright lights. A little water, dry snacks, rest. No distress, just quiet. Maybe it takes a couple months of lengthening days. Maybe I thaw with the sap. Whatever it is, I’m here. Still here. Grounded and emerging. Squinting in the light.