My pixies,

I am welcoming the temperamental sprinkle of rain and blowing of leaves like the greatest hug the winter solstice can bear for me. The dirt under my fingertips is the happiest sight, the ache in my lower back from raking is praised, and the clouds of dragon smoke from my breath are rejoiced. Every time I'm on break from school and now my first uni break, I remember the person I am, I remember what my heart aches for, and I set goals for myself that I am my most excited to fulfil. My goals of fixing my pumpkin patch as I debate whether or not to pull them out and till the soil still being fought, my wish to build a bath potato bed finished with damp hair and a kitchen empty of sprouted potatoes. My want to battle the invasion of leaves and weeds from our big garden and paint the tanks done leaving the ground a rich brown and tanks the brightest they have been.

The part of myself wishing to light fires and rake leaves, build paths and transplant Pigs-ear to our dishevelled bank, leaving me with sore wrists and the greatest sense of satisfaction only a new path and burnt piles of leaves can bring you.

My spur-of-the-moment decision to build a flower garden with the mystery bulbs rescued from a garage sale that were sprouting on my kitchen table, originally a square bed, then a circle, then turned into a spiral, repurposing the snail village of bricks behind the shed, all done giving me the greatest joy and ache in my arms.

All of the aches and feeling of resistance within my body that I feel, are like spurts of happiness cause I know I'm finally moving my body outside the way it wants to move, it wants to lift buckets of bricks and compost, wants to push and pull pots into the right place, wants to crouch over the garden for hours at a time (not my laptop and desk), feeling the chill of frost on my nose and fingertips. They are all sensations of joy that my body welcomes and wishes it had more of, these treasured moments of outside task setting and doing on my own accord.

Just like last year, the winter sun brings a brightness to my world, it feels like a warm hand on my back. It shines a different kind of light onto the soft hairs on people's necks, or stray stands in wool jumpers shining in a new way.

Maybe it's being with the one you love that is the real thing that changes the colour of the world, because the past few weeks I have seen my love what feels like more than I have in the whole year. Maybe it's the warmth of rich brown hair nuzzling into your cheek, or the way the light shines into his eyes so perfectly that you can see spirals of interchanging brown and green stripes. Maybe it's both your hands, holding each other while squeezing into one glove or scratchy blankets draped over touching knees. Maybe it's not the sweetness of the buttery, marmalade toast but the gentleness of the hands that cooked it on the metal plate upon the stove for you. Or the kind arms that gently place a chicken into yours, moving your hands so you hold her right. Or the words that lead you out into the cold night, past the gate and the eyes that find the moon in a puddle so you can hold the moon in your palm. The boy who swings you around so fast that your stomach does somersaults or the man that wraps you in blankets, soft singing, and brewed chia when you're finishing an uni assignment.

His love's intention, even when he's not with me seems to be painting my life with warmth and rest, making this season of winter sun full of beauty the same way my sister did last year.

It's on breaks like this where I remember what I want, and I can't help but be scared that I'm choosing the wrong path of becoming a teacher, when my body feels so revitalised in the garden and its a reminder to me, that I need to keep a balence next semester so that I can really help myself stay afloat the strange apartment and mountain of coursework.

My pracs at school over the course of five Fridays were amazing; observing a primary classroom for the first time in years was constantly exciting. But I felt it chip away at my heart and build it back up over and over again. It hurts to watch as children sit silent during choral responses and only write down the answers the teacher shows and none of their own; it's heartbreaking to see a little child get reprimanded for eating a carrot too loudly during crunch and sip and watch them sink further down into their chair and eat with forced concentration from then on. It's strange to watch as kids are picked on there smallest movements, and when little mistakes are turned into drawn-out lectures that the children don't understand, when it's seen as argumentative when a little one speaks back because they don't understand what they did wrong themselves. But then you also see them giggle and build and create; they problem-solve and excitedly walk up to you after lunch swinging their arms and grinning, then nervously coming into step with you as you ask what they played at lunch. It's too sweet to see little capable hands holding up their art and stories, asking me to read them, and seeing their focus as they get drawn into the worlds and creatures of the stories they make.

Today, I did my first crochet lesson with the same wonderful 4 girls that I did the painting with. It's so exciting to be asked to help give someone else your knowledge, especially a handcraft. My new pre-service teacher brain couldn't help but make a little lesson plan and gather the songs from random sticky notes on my computer about crochet as well as write reflection notes about what I could improve on afterwards. I began in my first hour with teaching them (ages kindy to year 6) how to do finger crochet, which I had also never really done before but found so fun as well. Then went on to make long chains with big hooks for headbands that I tied around 4 heads of short brown hair into bows.

The garden makes my body feel alive with hands pulling apart garlic and dipping my fingers into the soil, the freedom to choose whatever paths I want to make, while my dream of teaching makes my heart ache and blossom in a different and similar way. I know this is the process I have to take, changing my mind and finding the things that I love the most, I know that in the fullness of time everything will come clearer. I find this clarity in the cold sun with worn clothes and slept in hair.

With a full heart and warmed hands,

- Nettle

PS: This is the potato bath that I planted, the bath was really deep so I filled it up with lots of organic matter the images show, twigs and stick, bark, leaves, woodchips, really old goopy compost, manure, (then a layer of soil), sprouted potatoes from the dark cupboard, (more soil) and finally straw and a big handful of worms that I found under a mat on the ground that was trying to kill a patch of unwanted grass. I'm so happy with how much goodness I was able to cram into the bath thingy and the baby potato sprouts are beginning to peek their heads up since I took these photos!

PS a second time: I'm currently listening to Rana the Fortunate by Joshua Burnside and Laura Quirke and it is everything to me in this moment of writing. If you like this song, you might like my gardening playlist that has been following me around.