Following the Wisdom of Winter Trees
Walking through a forest in Vermont, I find myself atop at least three feet of snow, my boots crunching with each step. The bright, warm sun filters through the bare branches, casting long shadows across the pristine white expanse. The crisp winter air fills my lungs, invigorating yet soothing, as I pause to take in the quiet majesty around me. Towering trees stand resilient, their trunks thick with history, their branches reaching skyward in patient anticipation of spring. I stop for a moment, pressing my hand against the rough bark of an oak, feeling its quiet strength, its patience. It reminds me that even in stillness, life pulses beneath the surface.
Winter is the season when the trees teach us the most about patience, resilience, and quiet preparation. Stripped bare of their leaves, they stand as silhouettes against the sky—unapologetically still, deeply rooted, and conserving energy for the seasons ahead. In their dormancy, they are not idle; they are storing resources, deepening their roots, and preparing for the inevitable return of spring.
Too often, mainstream narratives equate rest with stagnation, slowing down with failure, and stillness with an absence of growth. But trees remind us that winter is a necessary pause—one that is rich with unseen transformation. Their roots extend further into the earth, strengthening their foundation. Their branches, though bare, still stretch toward the sky, holding space for what’s to come.
The Strength of Tree Trunks in Winter
In the heart of winter, the tree trunk stands as a powerful symbol of endurance and stability. Stripped of its vibrant leaves and exposed to the elements, the trunk does not falter. It carries the history of seasons past—scars from storms, rings that mark years of growth, and a steadfastness that reminds us of the power in simply standing firm.
The tree rings, hidden beneath the bark, tell a story of inner strength and resilience. Each ring marks a year of survival—of adapting to droughts, harsh winters, and storms. In winter, when all external signs of growth have paused, the rings remind us that true strength is cultivated over time. Like the trees, we hold within us the layers of our experiences, each one shaping our endurance, our wisdom, and our capacity to withstand the elements of life.
The tree trunk teaches us that even when external growth is not visible, internal strength is being fortified. Our experiences, struggles, and quiet resilience are embedded within us, just as rings form within a tree. This season encourages us to honor our own endurance, to acknowledge how far we have come, and to trust that this period of stillness is just as vital as times of outward expansion. Like the evergreen trees that stand vibrant even in the coldest months, we can remain grounded in our values, steady in our purpose, and unwavering in our belief that growth continues—even when unseen.
Self-Care as Root Work
If we allow ourselves to follow the wisdom of trees, we begin to see that self-care is not just about temporary relief or fleeting indulgences. True self-care, like root work, is about nourishment beneath the surface. It is about tending to what sustains us, even when no one is watching.
Winter invites us to conserve our energy, to pull back from external expectations, and to focus on restoration. This is the time to listen to what our bodies and spirits need—more rest, deeper reflection, less noise. The trees do not rush to bloom before their time, and neither should we.
Beneath the frozen ground, tree roots continue their silent work. Even as the landscape above remains still, the roots reach deeper, seeking nutrients and anchoring the tree more firmly. This reminds us that self-care in winter is not about idleness but about deep, essential work—strengthening our foundations, gathering what we need, and ensuring we are prepared for the growth that will come. Just as trees trust in this unseen process, we, too, must trust in the necessity of slowing down and tending to our inner reserves.
Legacy Visioning in the Season of Stillness
Even in their starkness, trees remind us of legacy. The tallest, most majestic trees today were once fragile saplings, nurtured by soil they did not create. Their roots intertwine with those that came before them, forming networks of strength and support beneath the surface.
Winter offers us the same opportunity—to think beyond the moment and envision the roots we are planting for the future. What are we cultivating now that will outlast us? How are we strengthening the foundation for those who will come after us? Legacy is not built in the fullness of spring; it is prepared in the quiet of winter.
This season invites us to embrace the unseen work: the conversations that deepen our purpose, the moments of rest that fortify our resilience, the decisions that shape a future we may never fully see. Like trees, we are both living in the present and shaping what will come long after us.
As the cold settles in and the days remain short, may we resist the urge to fill the silence. May we allow ourselves to be like the trees—deeply rooted, unapologetically still, and quietly preparing for what’s next.
Our growth is not always visible, but that does not mean it is not happening. Winter is not the end of the story; it is part of the cycle. And just as the trees trust that spring will come, so too must we trust that our season of bloom will return in its time.
An Invitation to Pause
Winter offers us a rare and sacred opportunity—the power of pause. In a world that glorifies constant motion, this season reminds us that stepping back is not an act of weakness but of wisdom. Stillness is where clarity is born, where the deepest work unfolds beneath the surface. By embracing slowness, we allow ourselves to realign with what truly matters, to gather strength, and to prepare for what lies ahead.
Finally, here’s the thing - we are not trees. We are not stuck in the ground. We can make moves - or, as one of my friends reminded me “make moves to make moves.” I hope these questions invite you to pause, gather, and explore your silent legacy work.
What does self-care look like for you in this season of stillness?
How are you deepening your roots and nourishing yourself in ways that are not immediately visible?
What aspects of your legacy are you cultivating in this quiet time?
How can you embrace rest and trust in unseen growth?
In what ways can you hold space for yourself and others as you prepare for what’s next?
How can you honor your own endurance, much like the tree trunk standing firm in winter?
