Fragments of Wonder

“You will never know the value of this moment until it becomes a memory” Dr. Seuss

2025 blew in on stormy winds, the remnants of 2024 washed away in the relentless rain, its final echoes dissolving in rivulets carrying fragments of the past toward the earth.

The winds and rain are now gone, replaced by bright sunlight and blue skies. Delicate fronds of frost, unfurling in branching webs decorate the summerhouse roof, glittering in the morning light.

The edges of the years bleed into each other, like watercolour on wet paper. Pigments blending and flowing, colour blooming outward in soft feathers. A gradient of merging shades, blurring and dissolving into one another.

As is so often the case at this liminal time, where the echoes of the old year mingle with the whispers of the new, thoughts wander. I linger on the cool shadow of moments that have slipped away and the faint warmth of those still on the horizon.

I have not written a list of achievements to mark the passing of the last year, nor captured a careful tally of successes and failures. Instead, the record of my year lies in over 2,500 images captured on my camera roll, in brushstrokes and stitches, in ink and glue and marks of graphite, and in the 40 letters shared with you here on While I Was Drawing.

These captured moments trace the outline of my days, threads of inspiration and sparks of beauty that lit up the year.

top left to bottom right: my crochet rainbow jellyfish, daisy granny squares, pottery bowls, little Big Magic, felted mouse, Thomas’s clay owl

I do not have A Plan for this bright, young year, no meticulously charted course or neatly constructed resolutions to guide me through the months ahead.

I hadn’t planned to choose a word for this year either. I had, in fact, resolutely decided against it. And yet, it seems there is one that has settled into my soul and quietly taken root. As light and insubstantial as a dandelion seed, drifting and alighting so imperceptibly that at first, I barely noticed.

But the Word, this feeling, was always there, a quiet undercurrent threading its way through my days. Captured moments anchored in binary and pixels: photographs, scattered notes, fleeting thoughts recorded on my phone. Its tendrils unfurled through my letters to you, weaving through The Music of March and the Imperfectly Perfect Moments in May. Lingering In This Moment, falling softly with autumn leaves in October Skies, and resting In Silent Reverence.

And one September morning, driving to visit Mum, my mind drifted into that contemplative, ethereal space where creativity, imagination, and inspiration reside.

That’s when I noticed.

Not just the buzzards and red kites, who I always notice drifting on invisible currents about the motorway, not just the colourful line of parachutes trailing across the sky, the field of geese, the chill biting at my toes that always reminds me of Winnie the Pooh¹, but the noticing itself.

The journey, taken countless times before, shimmered with details I wanted to capture and never forget. I wanted to be fully awake, fully attentive, to drink all of the tiny moments and beauty and wonder into my soul.

And the word was there, waiting for me: Notice.

But I want to notice more and I want to more than notice.

I want to imprint them on my soul, both the monumental and the seemingly insignificant, exposing them to the light of my heart, so they can develop into memories I can revisit and marvel at again and again.

Now, as the new year unfolds, I see these threads of noticing woven through my life. I want to continue this practice, to notice the noticing, to intentionally gather moments, emotions, and beauty in words and images, and share them with you.

Here, in this space of creativity, inspiration, and imagination, I offer these glimpses. Fragments of wonder. Moments to carry forward. Gentle reminders to pause and see the beauty that surrounds us.

A Twixmas walk in the woods

In the quiet pause between the old year and the new, where time stretches and settles, Mum visits with Poppy. Our time filled with wonderful meals, games, films, and the joy of doing nothing much.

We wander the damp muddy path through the woods with the dogs. The smell of earth and decay in the air. The trees stand bare and still, yet life shimmers in the quiet. Raindrops hang like crystal garlands on spiderwebs and bramble leaves glisten with perfect droplets. Amid the muted tones of winter, green moss carpets roots and branches like tiny forests, vibrant and alive. Sproutings of fungi like spilled popcorn scattered across the ground among the leaf litter and fronds of silver grey-green lichen adorn the trees.

Frosted miniature worlds

The postman has delivered my macro lens. I have been daydreaming of getting one for some time. A tiny portal, a way to peer deeper into the world’s hidden details. And today, before the frost yields to the sun’s warmth, I am determined to discover some frozen wonders.

Susie and I pause on the doorstep and we are greeted by a volery of long-tailed tits that dance among the privet and holly by the fence before flitting across to the magnolia tree to feast on seeds in the hanging bird feeders.

I love January. The calm and quiet, the naked trees providing the perfect opportunity to watch the birds. Stripped of their curtain of leaves, bare branches are the scaffolding of a concert hall and tiny choristers with feathered robes sing out their counterpoint melodies into the morning. As we depart, the chaffinch and the robin sing their arias from the wings. Their cascading notes and delicate music serenade us as we walk, and a choir of great tits and blue tits call out from the branches of the fly-tower high above the stage. ‘Teacher-teacher’, effervescent trills and bouncing cadences back and forth, stage left, stage right, back again. A flash of coral in the leafless tangles of hedgerow; I am gifted with a rare glimpse of a bullfinch, pink-red chest and belly, grey back, black cap and Zorro mask, visible through the bare thicket.

I find a frosted daisy, it’s petals rimmed with crystalline lace. A delicate white down feather lies amidst the fallen leaves, tiny ice crystals decorate the filaments. Frozen dewdrops glitter along the grass stems. Susie is mostly patient as I lose myself in the details, my childlike wonder rekindled by each tiny marvel of stunning hidden worlds on this winter morning.

Later, from the warmth of the house, I watch the day fade. A greater spotted woodpecker moves among the branches of a silver birch, its black-and-white-and-red plumage stark against the grey sky. Beyond the birches, rivulets of starlings trickle across the sky towards their roosts as dusk begins its descent.

An enchanted escape

I fit together the final pieces of my book-nook², a snug retreat glowing with warmth and wonder. The miniature hearth smoulders, its tiny embers casting dancing shadows across the walls. The bookshelves filled with impossibly small tomes, untidy stacks of magical volumes with gilded spines and mysterious titles, tiny scrolls of parchment, potions and crystal balls. A baby dragon stretches on the hearth-rug, a boy practices spells in the window and a girl plays chess under hanging banners and mystical pictures.

I long to shrink to the size of Thumbelina and step into this enchanted sanctuary. I’d curl up on the rug by the fire with the baby dragon to read bewitching stories of magic and mystery. The scene is lit by flickering candlelight and the scent of parchment, beeswax and woodsmoke hangs in the air.

Time stands still. The worries of the world beyond fade, replaced by the quiet rustle of turning pages and the crackle of a magical flame. It’s a place where stories come alive, where the walls whisper with the echoes of adventures, and the air is charged with the enchantment.

As the days unfold, I wonder what moments will capture your attention, what small wonders you’ll notice along your own path. What will linger with you, tucked away like a forgotten treasure, waiting to be rediscovered? Perhaps, like me, you’ll find a word or a feeling quietly settling into your soul, gently shaping your year.

With wishes for endless inspiration,

There are moments and memories, stories and songs between the blades of grass and on the underside of the leaves, inside the flowers and dancing in the wind.

While I Was Drawing

1. An extract from Tiddley-Pom, from The House at Pooh Corner by A.A. Milne

And nobody
KNOWS-tiddely-pom,
How cold my
TOES-tiddely-pom
How cold my
TOES-tiddely-pom
Are
Growing

2. A book nook is a small decorative scene that fits between books on a shelf. It’s often a whimsical or imaginative setting; a cosy room, an outdoor scene, or something a little more fantastical, that provides a backdrop for the books. They are full of intricate details, like tiny figures and lighting. They create the illusion of a tiny world on the shelf, with the books forming the boundaries around it.