"Fuschia Moments" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
Yesterday morning, though the sky was heavy with clouds, I paused to take this picture of the fuchsia that now graces my porch. I had found it at a local big box store a few weeks ago, sitting among the leftovers of summer. It was a bit sickly looking, marked down to five dollars, but something in me whispered, “why not?” I brought it home, watered it, fed it, and gave it care. And now, in its renewed strength, it rewards me with blooms of delicate beauty, vibrant pink and white dancers swaying in the breeze.
Later yesterday, the rain began—gentle at first, then steady, lasting into the night. This morning dawned damp and quiet, the French door open to the fragrance of fresh rain on Northwoods earth. The air itself feels like a balm, cool and clean, carrying the promise of peace.
The symphony of summer birds has faded now; they have taken flight toward warmer lands. In their absence, the sounds shift—the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, an occasional honk from the geese at the lake. I smile, wondering what their conversations might be. My faithful mug of coffee rests in my hand, warm and grounding. Each sip, each breath, roots me more deeply into this moment.
I feel a peace here, a solitude that does not weigh heavy but rather uplifts. In this stillness, I remember: prayer does not change the outer landscape—it changes the inner one. The rains may fall, the seasons shift, the skies darken or brighten, but what matters is the state of the soul within. Each moment of release, each quiet act of surrender, transforms the way I see and experience the world around me.
And so, I remind myself: life is lived one step at a time, one moment at a time, one day at a time. Each moment is not just a pause along the journey but a destination in itself—a holy instant of peace and presence.
This morning, I begin with gratitude. Gratitude for the beauty of a flower rescued and renewed. Gratitude for the rain-soaked air. Gratitude for the quiet, the geese, the coffee, and the unseen blessings yet to unfold. My heart is full, my soul is at rest, and I release everything else into the hands of the Universe.
“Sometimes I go about pitying myself, and all the while I am carried across the sky by beautiful clouds.” ~Ojibwe Proverb
~Wylddane
Later yesterday, the rain began—gentle at first, then steady, lasting into the night. This morning dawned damp and quiet, the French door open to the fragrance of fresh rain on Northwoods earth. The air itself feels like a balm, cool and clean, carrying the promise of peace.
The symphony of summer birds has faded now; they have taken flight toward warmer lands. In their absence, the sounds shift—the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, an occasional honk from the geese at the lake. I smile, wondering what their conversations might be. My faithful mug of coffee rests in my hand, warm and grounding. Each sip, each breath, roots me more deeply into this moment.
I feel a peace here, a solitude that does not weigh heavy but rather uplifts. In this stillness, I remember: prayer does not change the outer landscape—it changes the inner one. The rains may fall, the seasons shift, the skies darken or brighten, but what matters is the state of the soul within. Each moment of release, each quiet act of surrender, transforms the way I see and experience the world around me.
And so, I remind myself: life is lived one step at a time, one moment at a time, one day at a time. Each moment is not just a pause along the journey but a destination in itself—a holy instant of peace and presence.
This morning, I begin with gratitude. Gratitude for the beauty of a flower rescued and renewed. Gratitude for the rain-soaked air. Gratitude for the quiet, the geese, the coffee, and the unseen blessings yet to unfold. My heart is full, my soul is at rest, and I release everything else into the hands of the Universe.
“Sometimes I go about pitying myself, and all the while I am carried across the sky by beautiful clouds.” ~Ojibwe Proverb
~Wylddane
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