Tēnā koutou katoa,
The trees stand bare. The gardens appear quiet. As we gaze across the whenua it may appear that little is happening. Yet beneath the surface much is being prepared.
Winter for many of us can feel like a time of slowing. The days shorten and our daylight hours are sparse and precious. We spend more time inside. We are drawn back home, towards whānau, to be with those who know us well. There is of course comfort in this.
Ka rere te kororkoro.
The lamprey migrates.
This returning and preparing occurs in our Taiao also. Tuna and Korokoro (Lamprey) begin their long migration towards te Moana-nui-a-kiwa and certain species of Tohorā (whales) return to our waters. Our manu behave differently with the shift in the season. Across the natural world there is readiness, movement and return. What may appear still is often anything but.
In the times of our Tūpuna careful observation of the environment has long helped people understand the cycles of their own lives. The movements of the stars, the birds, the winds and the waters reminded our tūpuna of their own roles within these cycles. That we too move with them.
As winter deepens, there is a feeling of anticipation that begins to gather.
Homes are prepared. Meals are planned. Invitations are extended.
People begin their own migrations back towards one another.
Grandchildren look forward to spending time with their grandparents. Whānau travel long distances. Rooms, tables and beds are made ready for those who will arrive. Freezers are stocked. Often preparation begins long before anyone arrives at the door.
Our modern condition places great emphasis on visible achievement. The completion, the outcome, the success.
Yet winter reminds us of another kind of work. The tilling that renews and nourishes the soil.
The seed that absorbs water to begin germination.
The conversation that reminds us of where we have been.
The quiet reflection of ourselves in others that strengthens our sense of self.
The intentions form slowly before they are spoken aloud.
Not all growth is visible.
Not all preparation can be seen.
Perhaps this is one of the gifts of this season. An invitation to pause. To wānanga. To gather our thoughts before gathering with others. To make ourselves ready for what is coming.
At Mākoha, we often reflect on gifting in this way. The most meaningful acts of giving rarely begin with the object itself. They begin beforehand. In the preparations we make for their arrival. In the care and attention offered long before a gift is exchanged. In the time we take to prepare for the return.
Kia rite, kia tau,
Nā tātou o Mākoha