A Year in Nature: December 25

On Christmas morning, my husband surprised me with snowshoes. Later in the day we stepped out together, fastening them under boots and heading into the quiet of our forest. It wasn’t a long trek, not at all strenuous, but it felt good moving through deeper snow with the weight distributed underfoot. There was a softness in each step and a lightness in the cold air that made conversation easy and calm.

Walking alone in nature has always been a way for me to settle, notice, and return to myself. But today reminded me that nature holds space for companionship too. As we followed the uneven terrain of the forest floor, we saw coyote tracks weaving through the trees and the flattened shapes of fallen cedars under snow. These traces felt alive, full of past movement and presence, and they invited commentary, shared wonder, and easy laughter. We talked about future plans for the woods, ideas of clearing a path and making a gentle trail through the forest over time. It felt like the forest was giving us a quiet invitation to shape this place together.

There is something about walking side by side that changes the experience. You hear the deeper details of someone else’s voice, and the landscape becomes a shared frame for plans, recollections, and imagined work ahead. When you move together through the woods you notice different things, and the rhythm of steps and conversation carries a warmth that isn’t just from the layers of winter clothing.

Relationships, like nature, unfold at a pace that can’t be rushed. Some days feel long and cold, others feel bright and clear, and each of them accumulates into a bigger story of who we are and where we’re going. Walking through snow, seeing what’s been there before, and planning what might come next made this winter day feel full. It reminded me that the outdoors isn’t just for silent encounters. It can be a space for connection, for shared attention, and for imagining what lies ahead.

If today allows, take a walk with someone. Choose a familiar place or somewhere new. Notice the way footprints show up in snow or mud, talk about what you see, and listen to each other’s voice carry into the air. Let the shared attention make the time feel a little fuller and the path a little more inviting.

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Hey, I'm Sarah

I’m a wife, mother, and nature enthusiast living a simple, slow-paced life on our small homestead in Ontario. Every day, I find joy in the little things — the wild creatures and plants I meet on my walks, quiet moments on the farm, and the beautiful journey of marriage and motherhood. Here, I share tender stories and photographs from my wild encounters, inviting you into the gentle rhythm of this life.

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