"Memories" (Image Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
The picture was taken several years ago, just after I arrived at the wee cottage in the woods. I remember the day clearly. There was a sense of newness in the air—both thrilling and tender. The roses in the photo, bold and alive in their terracotta pot, were among the first living things I planted here. I didn’t know then just how much they would come to symbolize the journey I was beginning.
This little place in the woods welcomed me at a time when I was letting go of a life I had loved deeply. It wasn’t a planned escape. It was simply time. And like a rose that sheds its petals to make way for new blooms, I had to release what was in order to discover what could be.
What I have learned is this: life is not a destination. It’s not a finish line we race toward. It is the journey itself—each moment, each step, each breath. And in that journey, there are infinite opportunities for discovery.
Not just of the world around us, but of ourselves. Who we are. Who we’ve become. And who we’re still becoming.
There is beauty in that becoming.
Here in the woods, I began to learn how to live again. Not merely to exist, or to keep busy, or to check boxes. But to live. To wake up with excitement fluttering in my soul, like birdsong through open windows. To listen to the wind in the trees as though it were an old friend whispering secrets. To find joy in simple things—a steaming cup of coffee, the dappling of sunlight through pine branches, the blooming of a rose.
This photo, with its soft edges and bright petals, is a reminder that even in the quiet, even in the unknown, beauty abounds. The roses bloomed then. And they bloom still. Not the same ones, perhaps, but new blossoms—born from the same roots.
That’s what this journey has been. A blooming. A relearning. A celebration of presence.
I no longer chase what’s next. Instead, I greet what’s now. And in doing so, I have discovered the miracle of today. Not perfect. Not predictable. But precious.
So I return to this photo often, not to long for the past, but to honor it—and to remind myself that the roses of today are just as radiant. That I am still growing. Still unfolding. And that, in itself, is a life worth celebrating.
~Wylddane
This little place in the woods welcomed me at a time when I was letting go of a life I had loved deeply. It wasn’t a planned escape. It was simply time. And like a rose that sheds its petals to make way for new blooms, I had to release what was in order to discover what could be.
What I have learned is this: life is not a destination. It’s not a finish line we race toward. It is the journey itself—each moment, each step, each breath. And in that journey, there are infinite opportunities for discovery.
Not just of the world around us, but of ourselves. Who we are. Who we’ve become. And who we’re still becoming.
There is beauty in that becoming.
Here in the woods, I began to learn how to live again. Not merely to exist, or to keep busy, or to check boxes. But to live. To wake up with excitement fluttering in my soul, like birdsong through open windows. To listen to the wind in the trees as though it were an old friend whispering secrets. To find joy in simple things—a steaming cup of coffee, the dappling of sunlight through pine branches, the blooming of a rose.
This photo, with its soft edges and bright petals, is a reminder that even in the quiet, even in the unknown, beauty abounds. The roses bloomed then. And they bloom still. Not the same ones, perhaps, but new blossoms—born from the same roots.
That’s what this journey has been. A blooming. A relearning. A celebration of presence.
I no longer chase what’s next. Instead, I greet what’s now. And in doing so, I have discovered the miracle of today. Not perfect. Not predictable. But precious.
So I return to this photo often, not to long for the past, but to honor it—and to remind myself that the roses of today are just as radiant. That I am still growing. Still unfolding. And that, in itself, is a life worth celebrating.
~Wylddane
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