As I was settling into bed, I heard the distant boom of thunder echoing like a low drum across the hills, followed by the steady percussion of raindrops tapping on the roof. A lullaby composed by the sky. I drifted into sleep to its rhythm—deep, undisturbed, and wrapped in the kind of comfort my mother once called “good sleeping weather.” She was right.
Now it is morning.
Very early. The world is still stretching awake. A golden hush fills the garden as sunlight filters through the trees in radiant slants, bathing the grass and the damp earth in soft illumination. The leaves shimmer with quiet gratitude. There’s a sense that everything is exactly as it should be, at least for now. It is a moment of perfect harmony.
And I am thinking of that word--harmony.
When the world feels loud and overwhelming, when headlines scream and tempers flare and everything seems perched on the edge of unraveling, I return to this. To this simple scene. To this ancient music of nature that plays on whether or not we choose to listen. In the hush after a storm, in the rustle of leaves, in the pulse of morning light—harmony reveals itself.
It’s not just poetic. It’s elemental. Harmony is built into the architecture of the universe. I see it in the design of spiderwebs, in the patient cycles of the moon, in the symbiotic dance of pollinators and blossoms, in the way trees breathe in our breath and return it as life. It’s all connected. Nature is not in conflict with itself. It moves in rhythms, in balance, adjusting and readjusting with grace.
This gives me hope.
As my life shifts—sometimes gently, sometimes abruptly—and as the world staggers through uncertainty, I remind myself that harmony is not a fantasy. It is a possibility. Not a static peace, but a dynamic balance.
Just as the Earth tilts, spins, and travels through changing seasons, we too evolve. We learn, we heal, we reconnect.
I believe the desire for harmony is planted deep in the human heart. We are not separate from nature; we are part of it. And when we return to it—walk among the trees, listen to the rain, rise with the sun—we remember something ancient and true. We remember how to be.
This morning, standing in my garden, the light warming my face and the memory of last night’s rain still fragrant in the air, I feel it again. That gentle assurance. That quiet promise.
Harmony is always possible. Even when it feels far away.
“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
~Wylddane