quietly creating

Barbara Wanhill

recent posts

  • Pacing

    pacing
    intransitive verb
    1a : to walk with often slow or measured tread
    transitive verb
    1b : to cover at a walk
    3a : to set or regulate the pace of
    also: to establish a moderate or steady pace for (oneself)
    b(1) : to go before : PRECEDE
    b(2) : to set an example for : LEAD
    – Merriam-Webster Dictionary

    One of our cats has been pacing for the last week or so. Her health is in unexpectedly rapid decline and up until now, pacing for her has only been exhibited when she wants food or when she wants outside. Wrapped up in our own pacing thoughts and frenetic daily movements consumed by work and other life commitments, we were perhaps not fully aware that her current pacing was illustrating her physical discomfort and pain. Today, the pacing has stopped. She has found comfort in a blanket tent I created for her – a remembering of when she was a kitten and liked to hide under the blue weighted warmth of woven fabric. Within the pace of a (mostly) indoor cat’s lifespan, she has lived a full, adventuresome life. She is teaching me to reconsider what it means to really live, even within the parameters outside my control… to make the most of what I have, slow down and be grateful for moments of comfort. To be more intentional about the pacing of the short time we have here.

    Drawing from life can help us intentionally slow down and connect with what is right in front of us in the present moment. Including with those we love.

    At the end of March, encouraged by windchill, I set out at a brisk pace and placed the pussytoes wreath I created last June near an ant hill. Even on that very cold day, ants were surfacing to take in the sun. Yesterday, I had time to visit the spot and the ant hill was teeming. It was hard to even find the wreath. In less than two months it has almost completely dissolved back into the earth. Nature sets a fast pace when conditions are right.

    Human planted spring ephemerals also grow through a fast pace in this part of the world. Between a rollercoaster rhythm of snow and summer temperatures, the narcissus have come and gone within weeks. I rarely pick them, but the Narcissus ‘Poeticus’ fragrance is divine and their form: elegant and sculptural, especially in dim light.

    The pace of this May long weekend has been slow and reflective.
    Narcissus “Poeticus’ and ‘Thalia’ catch light from the overhead window in the stairwell.

  • Move

    Last weekend I started cleaning up the garden and had to remind myself that it wasn’t that I had been lazy or neglectful with the over abundance of leaf cover. Instead: it had been snowing just seven days prior.

    Plant life moves quickly in this part of the world and in turn, so too does the human who facilitates her garden’s growth.

    The beauty of a garden’s movement is that once it is planted, it may move to its own rhythm, without the demand for the gardener to upgrade her subscription.

    A rudimentary gif of Pulsatilla vulgaris ‘Alba’
    created from a 55 second high resolution timelapse.
    Of course, videos may only be uploaded to WordPress with an upgraded subscription.

  • Pause

    Spring cleaning and the mental list of house chores still to accomplish today has been paused to record a pause in thought.

    Pause the personal anxiety felt towards the state of our world and instead formally acknowledge the pause in spring-like weather. The landscape has returned again to a form of precipitation more inline with the winter season we still inhabit. The spring ephemerals emerging yesterday are continuing to push through; although, perhaps, paused in their urgency during their sudden encasement in snow.

    A pause to reflect on the actions of nature creates a non-subtle reminder to cool the frustration and slow the mental flurry down, even as we spring forward.

    March 8, 2026, -1ºC/30ºF
    Snowfall is not unusual on the Canadian Prairies.
    March 7, 2026, 15ºC/59ºF
    Chinook winds hurried the emergence of Galanthus.
    Even the Ladybugs were waking up.
    March 7, 2026, Galanthus.