Swaying with the Grass: Gentle Reminders from Nature
Week 43, 2025 — Reflections inspired by Andrea’s words on noticing small movements that bring calm and comfort
ℱ𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈... 🫶💌☕
I’m writing this weeks letter all wrapped up in my comfy cozy winter cardigan with a cup of decaff at one side of me and a cup of water on the other. It’s misty outside, the wind is blowing, and the rain is dripping slowly down the window. Lately, I’ve been feeling the subtle pull of the season more strongly than usual.
Maybe you notice it too… the way the air feels colder rather than cooler on your skin, how the days shrink, and the light seems softer, and more fleeting. Daylight currently visits my local community from about 8am to 6pm.
Sometimes that shift is comforting. Sometimes it stirs up old tension, sadness, or memories we weren’t expecting. And that’s okay.
There’s no need to judge or push away whatever arises. These sensations are real, and they are valid.
Back in 2024,
from A Seasonally Guided Life commented on one of my archived posts, “Movement as Medicine: A Gentle Conversation on Healing Through the Body”. She said:I love taking photos but recently I’ve noticed I’ve been actively seeking out movement in nature and using video instead. The gentle movement of long grass I’ve found incredibly comforting.
There’s something raw and tender in what she noted:
Even a simple, subtle motion can bring deep calm.
Andrea isn’t trying to achieve anything -- she’s just being present.
The world itself moves her a little, and that softens her nervous system.
That’s exactly what we sometimes need too -- a chance to soften instead of bracing.
I notice:
Even the smallest movement in nature
can quietly remind us
that we are still here,
still breathing,
still present.
Her words reminded me that grounding doesn’t need to be structured.
Sometimes it’s just noticing:
The sway of grass.
Your body shift as you breathe.
The crisp autumn air on your skin.
The weight of a soft sweater.
The damp smell of fallen leaves.
Letting your senses do their quiet work -- that’s enough. That is enough.
I know that for anyone carrying past trauma, even these small moments can feel distant or impossible.
And that’s okay.
Just noticing, even slightly, is meaningful.
There’s no need to force it.
You don’t have to “fix” anything to be moving forward.
I Wonder:
What gentle movements around me
could help my body and mind
feel seen and held
this week?
This week, I invite you to carry Andrea’s reflection with you.
Take a moment to notice:
The sway of leaves.
The flicker of sunlight.
The rhythm of your own breath.
Your posture as you sit.
Your sit bones on the chair.
Your feet against the floor.
Healing doesn’t always need to be intentional or achieved.
Sometimes, it is simply being.
Autumn reminds me that healing is layered and seasonal.
Just as trees let go of their leaves to prepare for new growth, we can release what weighs us down -- bit by bit, day by day.
October, sitting between harvest and winter, is the perfect time to notice endings, allow rest, and prepare for what’s next.
I Realise:
Even in the quietest moments,
I am moving forward,
softly, gently,
in my own rhythm.
I hope this week brings you moments of stillness:
Where your body softens.
Where your mind quiets.
Where your heart feels lighter.
And if it doesn’t (if it feels heavy, confusing, or hard), remember:
You are not alone.
So many others are noticing right alongside you.
That quiet, shared awareness helps us feel grounded, seen, and held, even on difficult days.
Until next time, take care.
𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒,
🙏 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝓍𝑜
P.S.
Not my crispest audio (blame the sniffles!) but I did my best for you anyway.
If you’d like to revisit the start of the Grounded Echoes series, I’ve also attached the original letter where I first shared the idea.
In this letter, I’m referring back to Movement as Medicine: A Gentle Conversation on Healing Through the Body
And if you’d like to explore Andrea’s work, take a peek at A Seasonally Guided Life. I’ve shared her publication description below too.
This a beautiful reminder to notice Nature. Really notice it. The clouds inching past, the flicker of a leaf or the raindrops on my patio table.
It’s like watching fish in my aquarium.
Very relaxing.
Thank you as always Dana. I love the gentle invitations in this post 🙏🌱🍃