Winter Noticing: Try This Moment of Mindfulness

Appreciate nature when it’s at a lull? Yes. Here are the surprising joys of observing the world around us

By: Rob Walker

As a dedicated city person, I’ve always been more attuned to the built environment than the natural one. It’s not that I’m anti-nature, of course. It’s just that picking up the subtleties and everyday wonders — or just the correct names — of even the flora that’s part of urban life has never come naturally (so to speak). But this winter, I’ve been trying to change that.

I realize that the onset of winter seems like an odd time for such an undertaking: For many, this is the season of stark greys, not lush green, months more associated with seasonal affective disorder than the appreciation of the natural world.

But of course, that’s precisely the reason to welcome winter on its own terms. It’s tempting to try to just tune winter out — hunker down and wait for the easier-to-appreciate seasons of natural bounty, weather that makes the outdoors a pleasure to savor. Resist that urge. Be present in winter, and with winter: attend to what makes it distinct, alive and even pleasurable in its own ways.

That’s what I’m doing this year. If I can tune in to nature now, the payoff isn’t just that I’ll be primed to attend to it in fresh ways in the spring, it’s that I’ll be more fully attuned to the (wintery) world as it really is, right now. To that end, I’ve begun paying closer attention to nature, with a set of prompts, challenges and parameters. Try them yourself!

Appreciate What Will Vanish

I live in New Orleans, where winter is admittedly mild, rarely involves snow, and usually entails just a handful of nights below freezing. Compared to our summers, this can actually be a good time of year to be out. Still, trees shed leaves, and plenty of flowers and plants will die. The example that I’ve learned to appreciate most is the banana tree — tropical and robust and extremely commonplace, they seldom survive even our mild winters. Eventually browned and hacked down, they’re rather sad. I’m savoring the last weeks or days of their fulsome presence. Look out for examples that are distinctly local where you are, even if it’s just a single flower that you know can’t hang on forever.

Think Beyond What You See

I admit that walking our dog on our coldest evenings can be a challenge, particularly because he seems determined to lollygag in the chill. But he’s been teaching me something this year: The distinct pleasure of crunching our way through fallen leaves. It’s partly about the crackling sound, but also the feel of brittle nature underfoot. The winter experience can be tactile.

Notice Beautiful Absence

An erudite friend who got wind of my efforts to appreciate nature in winter passed along Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold, which happens to involve recognizing the time of year “When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang / Upon those boughs which shake against the cold.” Comparing winter to the final stage of a life, the sonnet suggests our love can be most intense for that which we are about to lose. Channel that sentiment: Make an effort to notice the bare branches and their angular patterns, and savor them for what they have been, and what they are right now.


Perceive in Metaphors

But remember that winter is not really an ending; it’s a season, part of a cycle that transcends us. I recently heard an interview with educator and naturalist John Muir Laws, best known for his enthusiastic advocacy of nature journaling. He proposed a winter walk that challenges the way we think about the season: It’s not just a time to wait for beauty to return, but a time with its own beauties, however small and nuanced. If that makes them harder to spot, so much the better. “Let’s take a walk in winter,” Laws suggested, “and look for hope.”

Even those banana trees (actually a huge herb) have hope. If its roots survive the winter, which is almost always the case here, and the stalk (tightly packed leaf sheaths, not actual wood) is cut near to the ground after the season’s final freeze, new shoots or “pups” will likely rise from the low stump. Tentative tendrils with little leaves can pop up in days as the weather warms. You may witness a brand new banana plant, flourishing before you know it. But that will be something to appreciate later. For now, stay tuned to what’s special — and perhaps hopeful, in the winter present.

About the Writer

Rob Walker writes about business, technology, the arts, and other subjects. He is the author of The Art of Noticing, and the newsletter of the same name.