There is a moment each year where everything feels suspended…

not fully winter, not quite spring.

A threshold.

The Pisces New Moon brings a soft release—an unwinding of what has been held through the darker months. And then, almost quietly, the Spring Equinox arrives, holding day and night in balance as the light begins to return.

Here on the farm, you can feel it in everything.

The soil, dark and damp, begins to warm. Seeds are pressed into the earth, held in that unseen space where all beginnings take root. The first greens are already emerging—small, tender, and bright against the fading tones of winter.

In the pastures, there is a different kind of anticipation.

The goats are heavy with new life, moving slower now, resting more, their bodies preparing in their own time. There is a quiet watchfulness in these days—a knowing that something is coming, even if it hasn’t arrived just yet.

Nothing rushed.

Nothing forced.

Only the steady rhythm of what’s meant to unfold.

.

And in the studio, that same shift begins

The deep scents of winter give way to something lighter—green, fresh, quietly alive. New soaps start to take shape from what the season is offering—milk, early plants, and the first signs of growth returning to the land.

This is the space between worlds.

Where winter has not fully let go,

and spring is just beginning to arrive.

The Pisces New Moon clears space.

The Spring Equinox brings the light.

Together, they carry us forward—

from darkness into growth,

from stillness into creation.

This is the work of the season.

To plant.

To tend.

To wait with patience for what is on its way.

Because here, in this quiet turning,

everything is beginning again.