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Today I pulled the card Demeter – Loss, and it stirred something quiet but familiar in me.

Demeter is the Greek goddess of the harvest, but she is also the grieving mother. When her daughter Persephone was taken to the underworld, she mourned so deeply that the whole world stopped blooming. Crops failed. The seasons halted. Time paused. Her grief became the landscape.

Loss does that — it alters everything.

What struck me most on the card was the contrast: two figures in sepia, fighting, and beside them, black and white sorrow — something spilling, the rain falling. That visual shift feels like the threshold between before and after. The moment something changes and nothing feels warm for a while.

While I was making my spicy hot cacao this morning, I noticed the pineapple head I’d placed on the windowsill. It had soaked up too much water and looked like it had started to rot. I thought, Well, that’s done for. But then I found myself carefully prying it open, just to see. And to my surprise, it wasn’t completely gone. It might still dry out. Maybe even regrow. That small moment felt oddly significant — like a quiet metaphor for something I’m still living through. Loss can make things look dead when they’re really just resting. Or waiting. Or changing shape.

I’ve come to realise that loss might be one of the deepest lessons of my life. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but I know I’m not the only one learning from it. And maybe that’s the thing: the more we love, the harder the loss. That’s the cost, and the gift. I don’t have any grand wisdom to offer here — just the thought that grief isn’t something to “get over.” It’s something we learn to walk beside. And sometimes, we find that something inside us is beginning to stir again. Quietly. Softly. In its own time.

Loss changes us. It slows us down, empties the room, and sometimes steals our voice or creativity for a while. But it also teaches us how deeply we’ve loved — and reminds us that even after the longest winters, something always begins to grow again. This moment, is a small reminder: you don’t need to be over it. You just need to be with it. And trust that your own return is already beginning.