Setting Intentions: Learning from Winter’s Quiet Light

In many Native American cultures, the winter solstice marks a gentle turning point—a moment when the world leans back toward the sun and invites us to pause, breathe, and consider what kind of light we want to carry into the next season.

This year, those traditions have lingered with me. Their wisdom is quiet, steady, and deeply spiritual.

I’ve been thinking about how these teachings mirror the way I want to live—especially since beginning Fox and Butterfly back in August. That project nudged something loose in me, asking me to slow down, listen more closely, and trust the path unfolding. Intentions feel like the right next step.

Fox dozing in his tree hollow den during a gentle snowfall.

Welcoming the Light Back In

In solstice ceremonies, the sun’s return is a reminder that growth still sleeps beneath the cold earth—quiet and patient, preparing for new life.

I’ve been honoring that rhythm in my own small way.

Last fall, I let my garden rest. Leaves stayed where they fell, plants remained standing, creating shelter for bees, moths, and other tiny winter creatures. It felt good to let the earth be. When spring arrives—when bees wake and the underground world stirs—that’s when I’ll tidy things up.

A gentler way of moving with the seasons and coexisting with nature.

A Time for Inner Renewal

Many winter traditions focus on spiritual cleansing, like smudging with sage or cedar, looking inward, and letting go of what feels heavy.

These ceremonies belong to the people who practice them, but their spirit, this invitation to reset, is something I can learn from. For me, it means stepping away from screens, spending more time outside, keeping my art supplies nearby, and making space for quiet moments.

The Heartbeat of Community

During winter gatherings, families and communities come together to share food, stories, drumming, and songs. These moments strengthen bonds and pass on wisdom.

My version of this intention is much quieter but just as meaningful: nurturing the relationships that feel steady and true, reaching out more often, and letting creativity be something I share—not something I hoard.

Honoring Those Who Came Before

Many cultures honor ancestors during this time and remember the lessons they left behind. I think about the people who shaped me (and continue to shape me): my family, my friends, my childhood in Kingston, and the memory of Uncle Jason, whose joy inspired Fox and Butterfly.

For me, intention here means carrying forward the gentleness, humor, and wonder they gave me.

The Warmth of Fire

Fire appears in many solstice traditions as warmth, purification, gathering, and storytelling.

For me, fire is a promise to tend the creative spark I’m carrying—not to burn too fast or too bright, but to keep the flame steady. Small, sustainable, alive.

My Intentions for the Year Ahead

To notice more.

To create with honesty and curiosity.

To move a little slower.

To honor my roots and the people I love.

To keep following the light, even when it’s faint.

I’m already on this path, but the solstice reminded me that I can choose it over and over.

What small intention will you carry into the new season?

Sources: http://bluejeanoracle.com/rooted-communication