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Walking with friends on Saturday during a spiritual retreat, I revelled in leaves of varying shades of auburn and golden yellow. In the heights of tall oaks and resting mournfully on the meadow floor beneath me, the emerald lungs of the forest resign themselves to decay as man and animal squelch them underfoot, to become mulch for next year’s growth. Life and creativity have distinct cycles. Some passages of the road are less welcome than others. Personally, I dislike winter.

Meadow land This morning, while walking in the fields at the Meads, I was invigorated by the energy the wildlife around me exhibited in...