Find a place where you can see or be near trees—whether a forest, a park, or even a single tree visible from your window. If outdoors, lean your back against a tree trunk; if indoors, hold a small piece of wood or bark in your hands. Take a comfortable seated position, allowing your body to feel supported and stable. Place your feet firmly on the ground, imagining roots extending from your soles into the earth below. Take five slow breaths, feeling the mid-April air filling your lungs—air that carries messages between all living beings in this season of awakening.

"Tha mi ag iarraidh ceangal ris na craobhan, ceangal ris a' ghaoith, agus ceangal ris an talamh a tha gar cumail le chèile." (I seek connection with the trees, connection with the wind, and connection with the earth that holds us together.)

Feel yourself present in this moment of the year's unfolding. April 17th stands in the deepening embrace of spring—a time when the world's green pulse grows stronger daily. The land around you vibrates with purpose as buds unfurl, birds build nests, and creatures emerge from winter's retreat to reclaim their place in the living world.

"Anns an àm seo den bhliadhna, tha beatha a' sruthadh suas tro na craobhan, bho freumh gu geug." (At this time of year, life flows upward through the trees, from root to branch.)

As mid-April surrounds you, witness the determined vertical movement in the natural world. Trees draw water and nutrients upward from soil into trunk, from trunk into branch, from branch into leaf and flower. Birds build nests higher in branches that grow more sheltering by the day. Yet within this upward-reaching season, you may find yourself experiencing grief.

"Eadhon mar a tha an saoghal ag èirigh, tha bròn agam mar chlach anns a' chridhe." (Even as the world rises, I carry grief like a stone in the heart.)

Grief may seem at odds with spring's momentum, yet it has its place in this season of transformation. Like fallen leaves that nourish new growth, our losses become part of the soil from which new life eventually emerges. Grief honors what has mattered deeply, what has changed us by its presence and its passing.

"Tha bròn mar uisge domhain a' sruthadh fo 'n talamh, a' giùlan beathachaidh do na freumhaichean." (Grief is like deep water flowing beneath the earth, carrying nourishment to the roots.)

Close your eyes and visualize your grief as underground water—dark, cool, hidden from sight, yet vital to life's continuation. This water moves slowly through layers of earth, touching ancient stones, carrying minerals and memories alike. Though invisible from the surface, it sustains everything that grows.

"Mar a bhios a' Mhàthair Talamh a' gabhail uisge an t-srutha, agus a' dèanamh biadh às, tha i a' gabhail mo bhròin agus ga thionndadh gu beathachadh." (As Mother Earth takes the water of the stream and makes nourishment from it, she takes my grief and turns it to sustenance.)

Feel Mother Earth's transformative presence beneath you. She receives all things—joy and sorrow, birth and death, celebration and mourning—and incorporates them into her great cycle of renewal. She does not rush grief's passage or deny its importance but honors its necessary flow through the underground rivers of being.

"Chan eil bròn na nàmhaid don bheatha; 's e pàirt dhith a th' ann, a' teagasg dhomh doimhneachd agus luachmhorachd na tha mi air call." (Grief is not an enemy to life; it is part of it, teaching me the depth and value of what I have lost.)

Allow your awareness to expand to include your grief fully. Rather than struggling against its weight, imagine it flowing through you like water through soil—softening what has hardened, revealing what lies beneath the surface, creating space for what is yet to come. Mother Earth teaches that grief does not diminish life but deepens our capacity to receive it.

Take a moment to contemplate:

What wisdom might your grief be carrying to the roots of your being? How might this underground stream be nourishing aspects of yourself not yet visible on the surface?

"Gun robh sruth do bhròin a' sruthadh gu rèidh, gun robh e a' maothachadh an àite a bhith a' briseadh, agus gun robh thu a' faireachdainn làmhan na Màthar Talmhainn gad chumail tro gach atharrachadh." (May the stream of your grief flow gently, may it soften rather than break, and may you feel Mother Earth's hands holding you through every change.)

Carry with you the understanding that grief, like April itself, participates in the great cycle of renewal. As you return to your day, remember that you walk with the wisdom of Mother Earth, who knows that what flows underground today may emerge tomorrow as blossom and leaf.