Full Moon Musings…

I’ve been reading about the Full Moon in Cancer on Saturday, January 3rd — also known as the Wolf Moon. A super moon, apparently, and an emotional one at that. It’s said to have a habit of stirring up feelings of heaviness around burdens and responsibilities that haven’t quite been sorted yet.

At this point, I’ll be honest — I wasn’t sure I wanted to read on. January isn’t exactly known for its lighthearted optimism. But it turns out I’m not alone in feeling this way, which was oddly comforting. The suggestion is to practise compassion — with others, yes, but also (perhaps more importantly) with ourselves.

There’s reassurance here too: that pruning back what no longer serves us — old attachments, expectations, lingering “shoulds” — can bring a surprising sense of relief and freedom. Blocks can loosen. Things can shift. Phew. That alone felt worth pausing for.

This full moon invites us to focus on what’s close — home, family, loved ones, our immediate environment. It asks a gentle but honest question: How can you bring more comfort into your life — without compromising yourself in the process?

It’s about feeding the foundations that keep us rooted and grounded. Letting go of unnecessary worries, outdated obligations, and inherited expectations that quietly weigh us down. When we unburden ourselves — even a little — a deeper peace can begin to settle.

There’s also a reminder to honour balance: time for quiet inner reflection alongside time with others. Especially now, when many of us are sorting through what truly matters and what can be laid down.

And beyond all the moon descriptions and advice, there was something quieter that lingered with me — the name Wolf Moon itself.

Wolves have long been associated with instinct, loyalty, and a deep inner knowing — the kind that isn’t loud, but steady and true. They remind us of the parts of ourselves that sense when something is no longer right, when it’s time to rest, regroup, or quietly reclaim what’s been lost. Perhaps this moon isn’t here to overwhelm us, but to gently call us back — to intuition, resilience, and the wiser, wilder parts of ourselves that know how to move through winter and still keep the pack close.

Nothing dramatic. No grand resolutions.
Just a thoughtful pause. A bit of clearing out.
And the steady reassurance that tending gently to what’s closest — including ourselves — is more than enough for now.

I’ve been reflecting, and found myself drawn back to a poem written by WJ Thomson, my dad. I’d like to share it with you here.

For all the things

For all the things I haven’t done,
And all the battles lost and won.
For all the kindness unexpressed,
And all the time that isn’t left.
I cried a little.

For all the friendships lost and won,
All the sadness and the fun.
For all the good things of the past,
And memories that for ever last.
I sighed a little.

For all the cherished, precious thoughts,
And all the things that can’t be bought.
For all the things that means so much,
The laugh, the smile, the gentle touch.
I warmed a little.

For all the kindness I have known,
The thoughtfulness that has been shown.
For all the helping hands extended,
And friendships that have never ended.
I smiled a little

For all the joys I’ve still to see,
And all the pleasures yet to be.
For all the stories not begun,
For all the songs that remain unsung,
I laughed a little.

Photography by Laurina

A tranquil morning walk on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne… Mother Nature works her magic….

Now that I am here—
not preparing, not striving,
but simply being—
I give myself permission to soften.

Let the plans rest.
Let the doing dissolve.
Let the hum of effort settle like silt
in still, clear water.

I don’t have to catch the beauty—
I am already held by it.
The wind, the sea, the sky—
they need no witness,
only presence.

In this moment,
I return to myself,
and I remember:
I am not here to prove,
I am here to belong.

With love
Laurina x

Beautifully-Strung has been a little quiet lately—so have I. Life’s been full of practical things, and the creative flow got nudged to the side for a while.
But recently, I was reminded: “Giving tells the Universe that you believe you are provided for.” (Notes from the Universe)
It stirred something. A little reminder of why I create; to share light, to offer a moment of stillness, to trust that small acts of beauty matter.
So here I am, cup of tea in hand, candle flickering… beginning again.
With love,
Laurina x

Those pale white flowers, blooming bravely on dark, thorny branches—often before the leaves have even stirred—are one of the first signs that spring is truly waking.

In folklore, the Blackthorn was known as both guardian and guide. With its twisted limbs and fierce thorns, it was seen as a protector of boundaries—between fields, between worlds, and between the quiet of winter and the renewal of spring.

Despite its prickly nature, it has gentle gifts. The sloes it bears in autumn were once used in remedies for the throat and digestion, and its wood was carved into walking sticks for those seeking strength on uncertain paths.

This tree has long reminded us: beauty and resilience can grow even from the darkest roots.

And sometimes, the most hopeful blooms are the ones that come after the hardest season.

I’ve been gathering stories like this for a book I’m working on—slowly but joyfully—one wild plant at a time.

Have you spotted any early signs of spring where you are?

Words & Photography by Laurina 

WWW.Beautifully-Strung.com

There’s a generous scattering of tiny Wood Anemones in the garden now—delicate, low to the ground, and quietly dazzling when the sun peeks through.

Known as the windflower, they’ve long been linked to fairies and old folk tales, said to carry whispers from the spirit world. Not one for remedies these days (a bit too strong-willed for that), but more than welcome just for the way they remind us to notice what’s fleeting and quietly beautiful.

They bloom when the sun shines, tuck themselves away when they’ve had enough, and seem perfectly content doing their own thing…..

Springtime wishes to you.

Photography and Words by Laurina

There’s something reassuring about the return of the daffodils. No fanfare, no fuss—just quietly showing up, brightening the world, and reminding us that life continues to unfold, even if it takes its time.
Here’s to the quiet signs of spring and the colour that lifts our spirits.
Walking with the light — one daffodil at a time.

Photography & Words by Laurina

Spring has a way of turning up in the most ordinary places.
The other day, in the middle of a supermarket car park, I spotted a bush with the softest white blossoms. No fanfare—just a quiet nudge from the season, reminding me that nature finds its way, even here.
There’s no need to rush out in search of spring. Often, it finds us when we’re not looking.
Let’s give ourselves permission to notice the small things, to pause when we can, and let the season arrive in its own time.

Springtime wishes to you,
Laurina

Photography & Words by Laurina

I was walking along a woodland path with my sister.
So few flowers… Then I spotted a glowing bloom beside the pathway.
The simple pleasure of seeing it shining among the tangled remains of Winter.
Thank you, Lesser Celandine, for being there.
Thank you for your symbolism of renewal, resilience and early joy.

With a heart open to whispers,
Laurina