From winter or a river*

Life from the maples: mindful journal prompts, gentle read recos, birdsong—and stories that take flight

I've been trying to love one thing well—like a river. Watching as it moves, bringing with it a bloated branch or curled elm leaf; how it catches and scatters sunlight like liquid stars. It lures dragonflies that hover, rainbow-winged, before lighting on my shoulder, then zipping away.

It seems easy to love a river, even now in the last days of winter—its acoustic shifting below the ice, its quiet resilience. But how do we know whether we're loving something really, or projecting our own wants onto its surface?

Last August, with a small group, I headed north toward the river's source. We climbed atop a jellybean-blue raft that jostled high on crests of waves as outcrops of ancient gneiss and granite bobbed by—witnesses to a billion years of evolution—while forests of sugar maple, yellow birch, white pine, hemlock, and spruce watched our descent. One might imagine the Memegwesi, water spirits in Algonquin folklore, watching as well. In my culture, Celtic fairy folk called Sidhe are often seen as protectors of rivers too, ensuring their purity and sacredness—and may trick travelers who disrespect their waters.

Our boat dropped like a broken elevator from high waves as the river's mouth snaked and roared around us. My ankles never worked so hard to steady my body as I perched atop the raft, struggling against the river's raw, unpredictable strength.

Is it possible to love all of something, even the parts we wish to tame?

In Raymond Carver's poem Where Water Comes Together With Other Water, he writes:

It pleases me, loving rivers.

Loving them all the way back

to their source.

Loving everything that increases me.

To love one thing well requires witnessing without expectation. The river teaches me that love isn’t possession or even understanding, but a willingness to stand at the edge of mystery, watching it flow and we along with it.

📚A gentle read

This week, I’m re-reading:
The Serviceberry by Robin Wall Kimmerer

I love how the author’s teaching me about reciprocity in nature. I’m trying this week to apply this to how I show up in the world; how I make choices based on others and nature. Readers will enjoy her simple, beautiful prose: “To name the world as gift is to feel your membership in the web of reciprocity.”

📝 Mindful writing exercise

Each time I write to you, I offer a mindful journal prompt—an invitation to pause, breathe, and check in with yourself through writing. These prompts are not about perfect sentences or deep reflection (unless you want them to be). They’re a moment to meet yourself on the page with curiosity and kindness.

Gather your notebook (or a piece of paper) and a pen. Find a comfortable place on a sofa, a chair at your desk, or on a cushion on the floor. Take a few moments to sense the inflow and outflow of breath. Allow your awareness to follow the breath as it expands your lungs and abdomen and exits through your nose. With each breath begin to let go a bit more.

This week’s prompt:

What does my body need most right now, and how can I offer it to myself — even in a small way. Pick up your pen and begin to write down the first thought that comes to you. Keep writing, staying with that first thought, and not looking back to judge whether what you wrote was good or bad. Enjoy the flow of the thoughts that are coming to you and just write them down. Try to stay with this burst of thought for as long as it carries you. It might last five minutes or it might only last 60 seconds. Once you feel that the first thought is complete, put the pen down. How can you fold what you wrote into the fabric of your week?

🥣 Something to nourish you

Because self-care isn’t only words on a page, here’s a simple recipe I’m loving right now:

Cardamom Oat Milk Latte

• 1 cup oat milk (or almond milk)

• ½ tsp ground cardamom

• ½ tsp maple syrup (or to taste) (try stevia for a sugar substitute)

• Tiny pinch of sea salt

Warm everything in a small pot, whisking until frothy. Pour into your favourite mug and sip slowly.

Thank you for being here. Take what you need, leave the rest, and know that your words — even the messy, unfinished ones — matter.

Looking for more mindful journal prompts? You’ll find some at mindful writing prompts within the Substack app.

Yours in Ink & Earth,

Lissa M. Cowan

I am grateful to live, work + play on the unsurrendered traditional lands of the Algonquin people.

*My title comes from a poem by Pablo Neruda called “Poetry.”

Fancy shoes, happy place, leaf prints.