🌱 The Season of Seeds

Bushwillow seeds in Kruger National Prk

The world is shifting, and so am I.

I’ve been sensing it for a while now a slow, quiet turning. Not a break or a burnout, but something older. Something deeper. A kind of remembering.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about seeds.

How they hold whole forests in their silence. How they wait—through cold, through dark, through time. How they don’t rush.

I feel like one of those seeds right now. Still intact, but softening. Cracking open in places I didn’t expect. Letting light in. Letting the old compost. Letting something new root itself in me.

You see, I come from many worlds.

I’ve walked in the systems: businesses, software, agile frameworks. I’ve coached, built, launched, led. I’ve also walked with the earth—barefoot in the soil of Africa, chasing light through a camera lens, listening to the wisdom in the wild.

And somewhere between those two paths, I’ve realised they’re not separate. They were never meant to be.

What’s calling me now isn’t just another pivot. It’s a return.

A return to the old ways that are also new ways:

To slower rhythms. To building with care. To living in relationship with nature, with each other, with the parts of ourselves we’ve forgotten. To creating things that nourish, not just scale.

I don’t have a five-step plan or a polished elevator pitch. What I have is a pulse. A direction. A knowing that it’s time to plant something different.

So I’m writing again. I’m making space for the magic, the mystery, the mess.

For the sacred and the strategic to meet.

For poetry and process to coexist.

For seeds to be seeds.

If you’re in your own season of softening, unravelling, of remembering, I see you.

Let’s walk this new-old path together.