Senses of Spring
In celebration of road trips, boisterous frog song, and writing prompts, of course!
Growing up, spring break often looked like road trips from Spokane to Port Ludlow, Washington, a small community nestled against the Salish Sea where beloved members of our family lived, and where my sister and I reveled in spending an entire week mostly outside in early April.
We wandered fern-laden trails, visited local shops in nearby Port Townsend, took day trips to lighthouses and museums, and traipsed moody beaches for hours merrily scouting for still-intact sand dollars. I still remember being amazed at how immediately and steadfastly green everything was the moment we crested one of the mountain passes separating Eastern Washington from Western Washington.
Like the sound of rivers rushing, the hopeful scent of new lilac blooms, the sight of damp ponderosa pine needles newly extricated from melting piles of snow, the spritz of a cold saltwater breeze blowing through my hair is something I’ll always associate with April.
Living at 5,000 feet means spring is a truncated season, late to arrive and quickly traded for summer as soon as temperatures start rising in earnest. We often awake to fresh snow on the ground and ever more fresh snow in the mountains above us in April. Truth be told, it’s snowing in fits and starts as I’m writing this, splashes of sun valiantly trying to break through the formidable grey.
Earlier this month we took ourselves on a self-imposed “spring break” of sorts, trading a still-frozen lake and intermittent snowfall for temperatures in the 60s and a blissfully cold but perpetually wide open Puget Sound.
We celebrated one of our beloved fundraising trail races turning TEN with a 16-hour sun-soaked day spent outside with friends and like-minded strangers at a Seattle park we know and love like its an extension of our own backyard trail system.
We then had the distinct pleasure of hopping over to the much-beloved San Juan Islands to spend a week working and playing alongside some of our favorite humans (and dogs) in another one of our forever favorite places.
We sat outside in the sun a lot, hugged new friends and old friends, had to apply (and reapply!) sunscreen, shared meals with beloved humans, laughed alongside many a dog party, fell asleep listening to loud symphonies of frog song, and spent as much time as possible outside.
Even though I worked while we were traveling, it still felt like a sabbatical of sorts, if only from our own daily routines. Sometimes that sort of perspective and physical shift is exactly what I need to breathe deeper, recenter, feel my own creativity and hope surging again.
During our time away I felt more present than I’d been able to be since January, since the flood. I knew I needed a change of scenery; I had just underestimated how much I needed it.
Stepping into the Salish Sea again grounded me, made me feel giddy with possibility.
That’s the power of spring to me: H O P E returning in so many forms all at once it’s impossible to miss, impossible to ignore.
I’d love to hear what you’re feeling hopeful about lately.
WRITING PROMPTS TO EXPLORE SPRING
Make a list of nouns and verbs you associate with spring. Get specific!
Follow-up prompt: Circle a few that stand out most to you and spend a handful more minutes writing about them.
Write about the first signs of spring in your area. What do they look, sound, and smell like? Invoke as many senses as possible as you write.
Do you have a favorite flower? A favorite plant? Spend some time researching
Follow-up prompt: If you don’t (or even if you do), spend a few minutes researching a bloom that intrigues you and write about what you learned.
Write about a road trip you’ve taken (or want to take someday).
Write a story centered on hope.
I always recommend sitting with each of these prompts for at least ten minutes at a time. Set a timer and try to keep writing for ten minutes without stopping or self-editing or even trying to steer yourself a certain direction. I’m a firm and longtime believer that when it comes to prompts like these, wherever you end up on the page is precisely where you’re meant to be.
A little bit of backstory about Kerrtopia & the woman behind the words:
A lifelong writer, enthusiastic English Lit major (see also: I read a lot), and fan of learning something new every day, I wanted a dedicated space to share more writing-specific thoughts and prompts more regularly. By day I work for an indie nonfiction publisher, and by night (among other things) I lead a quarterly writing workshop called DIVE via Creative Fuel Collective—you can learn all about it and sign up to be kept in the loop for future offerings right here.
Have questions about DIVE? Odds are good I have answers. Please reach out!
Do you know someone who would benefit from receiving regular writing prompts to their inbox, who might delight in reading some intentional rambles about words and water and the power in finding our respective and collective (voices +) senses of place?
I’d love it if you’d share this post and Kerrtopia with them.
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I love that you've given me permission to research peonies! I always want to research pretty much everything and usually stop myself, which is typically a good thing because I do have to work, sleep, and keep my children alive, but also something I should clearly allow myself time for, given how delighted I was by that prompt.