Hello Ramblers,

While I appreciated the extra hour of sleep this past weekend, I can't deny that the daylight is receding, it’s near impossible to dry laundry on the line, and the thick duvet has reclaimed its post. Depending on my mood on a given day, these facts can feel either uplifting or deflating. 

That’s why I’ve chosen Katherine May’s bestselling Wintering as our first foray into the worded woodlands. Seasonally appropriate though it is, Wintering isn’t strictly concerned with the literal rainy season. It’s about the fallow periods of our lives, which can arrive even when the lilacs are in full bloom. Serendipitously [ a little tongue in cheek ], one of my own winters happened at just the right time in the northern hemisphere’s seasonal cycle, and at the urging of my supervisor, this book accompanied me on the journey. A year on, I hope that wherever you find yourself, there’s a small comfort to be found in the poetic reflections nestled within each chapter.

So take a look around the world outside your window. What do you notice? Perhaps it’s rich golden leaves yielding to their vibrant red cousins, the cold humidity of a misty morning, the stubborn ice crystals your rattling defroster cannot seem to banish, or flooded wellies you forgot to tip upside down outside the front door. Wildlife is settling in to rest, and the trees will soon shed their final gift of light and colour to the forest floor. It’s time to turn inward. 

As the cold months arrive, it seems natural to turn the page. Literally. Let’s begin our ramble through the first chapters of Wintering, exploring the moments that ask us to slow down, tend to ourselves, and pay attention to the seasons within.

September: Indian Summer

We're introduced to the concept of wintering with a purposeful tug on our emotions. Everyday irritations swell into fear and quiet chaos, still humming with the ordinariness of inconvenience. As Katherine summarises later in the chapter, we often find ourselves unsettled when life refuses to move forward according to plan. We minimise, deny, and push through. Sometimes we push too hard, missing the early signs that a change of season is coming, and are surprised when the sun no longer seems to shine in our direction.

This isn't to diminish the value of resilience. There are times we must hike a steep trail or keep moving through harsh weather, and doing so can be deeply adaptive. But Wintering invites us to reconsider what resilience actually looks like. Perhaps it’s not only effort and endurance, but also the courage to rest, to loosen our grip on control. As that realisation unfolded, I felt uncomfortable and resistant. It challenged a story I'd been holding onto too tightly. I caught myself feeling annoyed. Then realised Katherine had led the reader there deliberately. By stirring that irritation, she mirrors the resistance many of us feel when asked to pause, rest, or let go. It’s both intentional and disarming.

Before we move on, I want to share the author’s own definition of wintering, so we’re all beginning from the same place (page 9, for those walking with her words):

Wintering . . . is a fallow period in life when you're cut off from the world, feeling rejected, sidelined, blocked from progress, or cast into the role of an outsider . . . Some winterings creep upon us more slowly . . . Some are appallingly sudden.

P.S. I highlighted the majority of pages 8 to 14. So, if nothing else, read those pages. They're worth lingering over.

October: Making Ready

As we step into "Making Ready", the theme of resistance lingers. May doesn’t scold us for it; she humanises it. After all, resistance isn’t failure, it’s part of the rhythm. It's a natural response to the loss of what once felt certain. Acceptance isn’t a single act, but a slow surrender. This chapter doesn’t ask us to leap willingly into winter, but to notice the tension between staying and softening. We aren't rushed toward acceptance, but held in the awkward in-between. It’s the season’s dance: resistance and surrender twined together, like leaves spun loose by the wind. Not defeated, but carried.

Reading this chapter felt like noticing the quiet spaces we often overlook within ourselves. I felt a sense of relief to see unspoken themes on paper, assumptions and stories that tend to narrow our vision:

• We need tangible proof for our "unwellness" to be enough.
• Our sense of "enough" is often determined by someone we perceive to have authority.
• Planning and preparing perfectly is a plausible way to avoid discomfort.
• Given the above, struggle can feel like a personal failure.
• Experiencing joy while struggling feels somehow wrong or as if it invalidates the difficulty.

In this chapter, we also encounter reminders and reframes that make space for curiosity and reflection:

• Constantly rushing through life can reduce our capacity to feel and experience fully.
• Personal stories evolve continuously.
• Over-reliance on external validation can deepen a sense of shame.
• Not all friendships survive every season, but some can grow back over time.

May doesn’t offer a final verdict on any of these reflections. She simply tells her story and, in doing so, invites us to see ourselves within it.

That feels like a good place to pause for now. Next time, we’ll find ourselves immersed in "Hot Water" and "Ghost Stories", reflecting on rest, warmth, and the courage it takes to stay still when everything in us wants to move.

As we move through Wintering together, there’s no rush. No need to finish chapters on a schedule, no pressure to keep up. Instead, let’s slow our pace in this one area of life, noticing what each section stirs in us. This is a book you may need to stop and start.

If you’d like to continue the ramble with me, you can join the mailing list to be notified when the next reflection appears.

Until then, take good care as you pause, ponder, and wander.

See you on the next page,

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Note: Rambling Reads is a reflective reading series and is not a substitute for therapy or medical support. This is a space where my love of stories meets my work in understanding them.

Cultivating Community: Whenever possible, I encourage borrowing books from your local library or a friend. If you’d like to keep a copy on your shelf while supporting independent bookstores, you can use my affiliate links to Bookshop.org to help keep this ramble going.