March! Here we are caught between worlds. The ground’s still cold, but something restless stirs beneath it.
Buried roots, perhaps? Buried memories? Buried truths?
Spring doesn’t arrive all at once with grandeur. It creeps in on stealthy cat’s paws so as not to rouse all things still sleeping. And within this space where winter and spring brush against each other, the air feels charged with… secrets.
Not loud ones or the kind that demand attention, but the quiet ones. The ones that live in the spine. The ones that send a faint shiver across the skin. The ones that raise the pulse before the mind understands why.
This is the time when the earth wakes from the inside out. What’s been sleeping begins to shift. What’s been forgotten starts to whisper. The light looks different too. Brighter around the edges as though it knows things you don’t.
And so, with the dawning of spring, I bring to you The Season of Secrets.
Over the next three months, I’ll be exploring those soft, shifting things that rise with the season: the strange dreams, the familiar ghosts, the instincts that nudge, the memories that resurface, the folklore that belongs to thresholds and quiet awakenings.
Spring isn’t just a season of beginnings, it’s a season of revelations.
R. H. DIXON 