Slow-Built

A love letter to the seasons, the people, and coming back to yourself

There’s a version of me that only comes back in spring.

This week she showed up somewhere between wine on a porch and clay under my fingernails, and I felt the sticky slowness of winter finally release its grip.

The behind-the-scenes: my last post I joked about my soul returning to my body after a long, dark winter. But all jokes aside, the sun coming bac…