Amid the hustle and bustle of Christmas, we all need a moment to chill out. With preparations, decorations, last-minute presents to buy and the house turned topsy-turvy, you can be driven to long for the quiet boredom of January.

But hang on. Stop the clock and slip out into the garden to soak up its calming energy. Even when half the garden’s asleep, life goes on, oblivious to human anxieties. By tapping into and immersing ourselves in this activity we can be released from our worries and emerge refreshed.

There’s a spot in most gardens where you can just switch off. Look at the surroundings – not bits you’ve been keeping in perfect order but rather less civilised ones where more is probably happening. And don’t limit your focus to plants. You may not, as I often do, see a badger’s glowing red eyes when putting poultry to bed, but if there’s a field, trees or a railway embankment nearby you might spot the green peepers of a fox.

Of course, there’s less going on in the garden – no bees, butterflies or scurrying hedgehogs – but there should be plenty of birds congregating round a feeder or a fatcake. Watch them darting in and out, squabbling among themselves as they work out who’s boss. Ask how many you can see at one time and what species they are, and look out for some loitering on a nearby branch, waiting for their chance to nip in for a few beakfuls.

You will find something absorbing, whatever the size of your garden. Weather is captivating, whether it’s calm or fiercely stormy. On a clear night, the sky, moon and planets are simply awe-inspiring, as is the sight of an ancient oak, cleanly silhouetted against the dying sun or the billowing clouds, endlessly changing shape and colour.

On a seasonal note, what is more magical than gently falling snowflakes? A few Hogmanays ago, several of us were gathered round a barbecue, sipping mulled wine in the snowy garden, snowflakes tumbling into our glasses and melting instantly.

You can also see a flake’s inimitable shape and pattern mirrored in the frost and you have to admit, however ruefully, that those branches you spray-painted white hardly match the real thing. Nature does best, so relax and admire it.

When trees are not coated in frost, you might see intricate grey-green growths clinging to the stems, almost like Christmas decorations. Lichens come in endless shapes and forms, growing on the side of tree trunks or smothering a dyke with crusty, living grey or yellow paint. Look closely and you’ll wonder at this enticingly elaborate organism.

Depending on where you live, sound too can be beautiful. If you’re stuck beneath a flight path or next to a busy road or railway line then you may need ear muffs to block out the racket but, with luck, you can open your ears to an enveloping silence. Noises can be engaging and relaxing: a melodious mistle thrush or raucous rooks by day, or the endlessly repetitive owls, proudly proclaiming their patch by night. And, for me, there’s the duck run where a couple of querulous old birds are tetchily immersed in a stairheid rammy.

While there's a wealth of sights, sounds and even smells to find in the garden now, water, in all its forms, is perhaps the most compelling.

My burn is wholly absorbing. When things get tough, I’ll amble along the bank, relishing the quiet, trickling water, or, as is usual just now, being captivated by its angry, roaring torrent, as it gouges out a new course for itself.

Elsewhere the calm surface of a pond can be magnetic, mirroring the world around it. Watch it rippling restlessly with every gust of wind, and catching and mimicking each swaying branch.

Open your eyes and ears and you'll find solace and tranquillity over your threshold. At this time of year, you'll need it.