Two years ago, I found my first frost flowers. I wasn’t looking for them. I had never heard of frost flowers, and so when I stumbled across them, I had no language for what I was seeing. From a distance, I mistook them for litter or possibly fungi—what else could account for the small white clumps interspersed among the spent wildflowers and winter-browned weeds?
But then I approached, and found this . . .
I broke open at the sight—so immersed in sensorial experience that there was no longer any separation between me and the muddy ground, the cloudy sky, or the delicate and improbable ribbons of ice. Sometimes, it’s music that breaks me open. Other times, it’s the warmth and weight of one of my children in my arms. Most often, it’s the natural world. There are names for this breaking open—awe, wonder, connection, enlightenment—but words cannot capture the experience. It’s an embodied sense of your own smallness, a feeling of intense aliveness, and of your inseverable connection with everyone and everything. I hope you know this feeling.
Frost flowers, I later learned, favor gray, cold, and muddy days. These aren’t the sorts of days we usually associate with wonder and awe. When the air freezes rapidly over a still-warm ground, the sap in plants like ironweed freezes and expands, cracking the brittle stalks. As water moves through these cracks and contacts the frigid air, it too freezes, emerging from the cracks in dainty ribbons and delicate curls. Finding frost flowers is a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Their beauty is enough to hit you upside the head, knocking you into a state of absolute presence.
We don’t have to wait around for beauty to thwack us, though. Awe is available in everyday moments, too. I’ve been reminding myself of that this week. I’ve been trying to notice my habitual flight from the present moment—the ways I lose myself in distraction, rumination, or mental busyness. I’ve been opening my senses to the mundane marvels that surround me—to the glint of light on my son’s bike helmet, the ringing of his laughter as he rides over and over through the same puddle, warm water on my hands as I wash the dishes, the weight of my blankets when I climb into bed, cold December air in my nostrils outside, or the click of keys as I type.
What makes these things mundane is my routine discounting of their significance. What makes them marvels is that when I give them my full attention, I come alive.
I’ve been watching the weather forecast, searching out the next possible bloom of frost flowers. But we don’t have to wait for ice ribbons, an exotic vacation, a Santorini sunset, or a fully healthy body to experience awe. Rather, pause and notice what you’re experiencing right now. Feel the textures that touch your skin. Feel the temperature of the air. Feel the aliveness of your own body—the wonder of hands that can flex and curl, of eyes that absorb a rainbow of color, of a body engaged in the slow and soulful work of healing itself.
What does awe feel like for you? What mundane marvels can you experience today?
Beautifully written! I have heard of Frost Flowers. Hope to see one some day. Thanks for the reminder to appreciate seemingly insignificant things. My next door neighbors knew I’d be alone at home for Christmas this year. They were kind enough to bring a delicious plate of Christmas dinner over to me. I’m sitting on my front porch enjoying it. As for the “mundane”, the sun is pretty high in the sky now and just as I was noticing it heating the side of my face, along came a cool breeze as if I had ordered it up in my mind or something. The next feast for the senses was hearing that same breeze pushing the few small leaves around on the flagstone walkway. Just the sound of them skittering along was awe inspiring. Thanks for reminding me to connect with nature/the world!
Gosh we are blessed to be aware of, and fully immersed in the present aren’t we! I’ve had a number of moments like this over the past few days - through my window watching tiny flies caught in a spiders web buffeting in the wind, and noticing the black mould gathering on said window, to wiping black mould away to reveal beautiful white grouting! Revelled in these mundanities .... Am I going a little crazy? 🤪