There’s something about early spring light that feels like a soft invitation — to begin again, to notice more, to get busy in the gentlest of ways.

The Magnolia tree outside my window is bursting into bloom, and my studio is bathed in that pale, golden light that only spring brings. Brushes, pots, notebooks, and little bowls of colour are scattered across the table, ready for the next wave of inspiration. It’s that beautiful in-between time — not quite summer, no longer winter — when everything feels quietly alive.

And outside, the bees are humming. And I’m feeling hopeful.

They’ve started flying again, joyful and determined, returning to the hive with legs full of pollen like tiny golden pantaloons. Watching them always gives me a little jolt of wonder. Such small creatures — such great purpose.

Preparing for the Spring Inspection

While they work, I’m busy too. Tomorrow is the first proper spring inspection of the season, and I’m preparing everything we’ll need: tools, notes, fresh frames, and of course — a calm presence. Beekeeping, like any kind of tending, asks for presence above all.

There’s something deeply grounding about syncing your days with the rhythm of the hive. You begin to feel the season not just in the temperature or the flowers, but in the energy of things — a quickening, a stirring, a coming back to life.

Between the garden and the studio, I move in a quiet rhythm of my own — checking on the bees, washing brushes, watching the light change across the walls. It’s a simple kind of joy. A slow one. And for me, that’s the best kind.

Tomorrow I’ll open the hive and check how they’ve made it through the winter. But today, I’m letting the sunlight warm the table, the scent of spring drift through the open door, and the soft hum of bees remind me: life returns.

Always.