Susanna Syassen

The path is still winter from a distance.
Bare branches, muted ground, the same familiar quiet.

But closer, there are small shifts.
Lichen bright against the bark.
Buds holding their shape.
A slight softening in the air.

Nothing has fully changed.
And yet something has begun.

It is easy to miss this moment if you are not looking for it.
Or if you are looking too quickly.

From a distance, the season has not turned.
But underfoot, something is loosening.

The body feels it before the mind confirms it.
A subtle readiness.
Not for action, but for movement.

Not yet outward.
But no longer fully held.

We often imagine change as something visible.
A clear before and after.

But most change begins like this.
Quietly.
Without announcement.

Practice meets the season in the same way.

There is a point where winter no longer asks us to conserve,
but spring is not yet asking us to expand.

The work is not to push forward.
Nor to hold back.

It is to notice where we already are.

To move with what is returning,
rather than forcing what is not yet ready.

Some days, the shift is this small.
A change in light.
A different way of stepping forward.

Enough to begin.