The mornings grow cooler now, and I notice as I walk that the birdsong is quieter, more subdued. Where once the air shimmered with chorus and chatter, now it feels like a whispered hymn, a gentle prelude to autumn. In the pre-dawn light, before the world is fully awake, I wander in peace. The first strength of the sun, rising steadily, paints the leaves and flowers with its touch of warmth and gold.

I think of a teaching exercise I once read: a teacher asked students to draw self-portraits, rays of sunshine radiating from their hearts—and also swords. The rays represented words of kindness, words that uplift. The swords, the words that cut and wound. Even children know: words are never just words. They can heal or harm, strengthen or scar.

So today I commit myself to rays of light. I choose words that affirm goodness, that scatter seeds of joy, that call forward what is best in others. These words I take into my heart and let them rise like the sun itself, warming the day. I will let go of words that diminish, that weigh down, that add no wonder to this world.

As I walk, the thought comes to me: I make a difference simply in how I speak. A gentle word can steady another soul. A kind word can brighten even the grayest morning. Encouragement, spoken with sincerity, can set another on their way with renewed strength. In this small but mighty way, we each help create a more compassionate world.

Dr. Wayne Dyer once said: “Have a mind that is open to everything and attached to nothing.” He also reminded us: “Don’t die with your music still in you.” These words reach deep. They ask me: What is the music within me? How will I express it today? Will I create, encourage, inspire, or perhaps simply offer peace to someone who needs it?

The answer becomes clear as the morning unfolds. My music is in my words. Every phrase, every note spoken aloud, is a chance to compose a song of kindness. My music is not meant to stay silent—it is meant to be sung in the way I speak, in the way I honor the light within others, in the way I remind myself of the beauty woven through this life.
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And so, with the sun climbing higher and the garden alive in quiet brilliance, I step forward into this day. My words will be my song. My music will be kindness. And that is enough.

* * * * * * * * * * 

“Your words are your song; let them carry light into the silence.”  ~Wylddane

~Wylddane

“In the hush of morning, hope takes root where shadows once lingered.”

A somewhat chilly gray morning greeted me today, the kind that carries a quiet rain and a softened sky. My usual garden walk was set aside, replaced instead with the gentle blessing of coffee time by the window. I watch raindrops trace their paths down the glass, each one a small reminder of renewal. Both ways of beginning—a walk in the garden or this stillness indoors—hold their own grace.

Beside me, the coffee tastes especially rich, warming me against the cool outside. Classical music drifts through the room—today it is Mangoré’s Un Sueño en la Floresta, a dream in the forest, filling the wee cottage in the woods with gentle cascades of notes. Rain, music, coffee, comfort—all conspire to remind me: even in grayness, beauty abounds.

And so, the words of others arrive like companions on this morning journey. Shel Silverstein whispers: “Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.” These words bloom in my soul like the flowers captured in a sunnier day’s photo—color against the backdrop of gray. They remind me that hope is not just wishful thinking; it is the spark that insists on possibility.

Then George Bernard Shaw speaks across time: “Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” How profound this truth feels in the rain’s quiet cadence. Each day offers a blank page, and even on gray mornings, I have the chance to write something new. To create, to give shape to life not as it is handed to me, but as I dare to imagine it.
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And so, as the music flows, as rain whispers its blessings, and as gratitude fills my soul, I recognize the richness of this morning. The wee cottage is warm. My heart is full. The Universe, even cloaked in gray, is alive with promise. Yes, it is a gray morning—but what a great morning it is.

~Wylddane

“Dawn whispers softly, carrying yesterday away and opening the heart to today's promise.”

There is a small lake in the village where I live. Some mornings, instead of wandering the garden paths, I find myself drawn down to the water’s edge to greet the sunrise. Today was such a morning, and this is the image I carried back with me: golden light spilling across the stillness, rich and soft, vibrant and subdued all at once.

In these late August days, the sun feels different. Its light is gentler, deeper, richer in hue—like a beloved song sung in a lower key. The mornings and evenings shimmer with gold, copper, and bronze, as if the Universe itself has dipped its brush into a warmer palette. Standing at the shore, it feels like gazing through a gate into something vast and holy, a reminder of the miracle of simply being part of this world.

Each of us is a unique and important thread in this great tapestry. We carry gifts, talents, and sparks of creativity unlike any other. To be true to ourselves—to live fully and openly—is to live our purpose. Some of us lift hearts through art or music, some through teaching or guiding, others simply through kindness. Whatever the form, each act of giving enriches the whole.

Each day arrives as an invitation to consider what we can offer back to this miraculous Universe. A word of encouragement, a smile, a song, a thoughtful creation—all ripple outward, unseen yet enduring. In giving, we also find ourselves guided, nourished, and transformed.
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So this day begins: dew-touched grass brushing my feet, the haunting call of a loon across the lake, the whisper of a breeze stirring the trees. The dawn opens its arms, and with gratitude and wonder, I step into its promise.

~Wylddane

"May my teaching drop like the rain, my speech condense like the dew; like gentle rain on grass, like showers on new growth."  ~Deuteronomy 32:2

I am not a religious person. Rarely do I quote the Bible. Yet this verse found its way to me as I was reading something else, and it stopped me. Not because I heard a voice of God speaking directly, but because I recognized a universal wisdom contained within its words.

Morning often reveals what the night has quietly prepared. Stepping outside with coffee in hand, there are days when the grass sparkles with dew, each droplet a small jewel offered freely to the world. Nothing is asked of us in return. The dew comes, unannounced and without discrimination, touching every blade of grass alike—tall and short, strong and fragile.

This passage speaks to more than religion; it speaks to the heart of being human. Teaching, like rain or dew, is most powerful when it is shared gently and universally. Words need not roar like thunder to shape a life; often it is the soft presence of kindness, the quiet drop of truth, that nourishes growth within us.

In this way, the world itself is a teacher. The rain falls whether or not we notice. The dew condenses even as we sleep. Lessons arrive unbidden—in a smile from a stranger, in the loyalty of a pet, in the turning of a leaf toward light. Just as the grass and new growth depend on showers, our spirits depend on these daily infusions of grace.

And perhaps the deepest teaching is that none of this is withheld. The universe does not measure who is worthy of dew or rain. All receive it. Likewise, wisdom, compassion, and love are not scarce commodities but infinite gifts, available to all who pause long enough to feel them soak in.

May we learn to let our own words fall in the same way—gentle, nourishing, free of judgment. May we remember that we, too, can be the rain and dew for another, offering kindness that refreshes, encouragement that sustains, and love that allows new growth to flourish.
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"The gentle rain makes no distinction, yet everything it touches is changed."  ~Anonymous

~Wylddane

Today we celebrate not only Steve’s birthday, but also the man he is—the friend, the craftsman, the storyteller, and an integral member of our Friday coffee gatherings.

Steve, you’ve been the inspiration behind two of the stories posted to this blog. In The Sled and the Woodworker, you are the woodworker—patient, steady, meticulous, crafting with both hands and heart. And in The Timekeeper’s Song, the story you asked me to write in memory of your father, you lent your voice, your ideas, and your love. Two weeks ago, when you proudly showed the coffee gang your father’s old Bulova wristwatch—stilled at the very hour he passed—it spoke to us all of memory, time, and love. It was clear how deeply it means to you, as a symbol of your father’s presence and of your place in the circle of time.

Your friends offered their thoughts about you, and their words say it best:

• You transformed your grandparents’ decades-old cabin into an expansive lake home—built with your own hands, plank by plank, nail by nail. That home now stands not only as a place of beauty but as a testament to your devotion, ingenuity, and love for Judy.
• You take what is worn and tarnished, what looks beyond saving, and with your woodworking skill you restore it into something extraordinary. This, too, reflects who you are—you see potential where others see loss.
• You’ve lent your talents as a builder and helper to so many of us, refusing payment except in the form of a humble bag of homemade oatmeal raisin cookies.

We also know the other sides of you:

• The man who loves music from the 50s and 60s.
• The one who delights in watching old movies with Judy.
• The one who treasures antiques, especially those tied to the memory of your grandparents.

All of this weaves together into the truth we know: you are a treasured member of our circle. A craftsman of wood, yes—but also of friendship, of memory, and of the moments that matter.

So today, Steve, we raise our coffee cups (and maybe a cookie or two) to you: a good man, a true friend, and a reminder that time is not measured only by clocks and watches, but by the love we share and the lives we touch.
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Happy Birthday.

* * * * * * * * * *

“The true craftsman leaves a piece of himself in all that he builds.”   ~Unknown


~Wylddane

​"Each dawn carries a quiet promise—renewal hidden in the hush of morning light.”

​It is the start of a new day. Though I did not sleep well these last couple of nights and I feel sluggish, the coolness of this crisp morning invites me outside, coffee mug in hand. The garden is waiting, fresh and alive, and I answer its quiet call.

As I stroll, the grass is soft beneath my feet, cool with the lingering touch of night. The day calmly begins to grow lighter, as if unhurried, gently unfolding itself one shade at a time. Birds stir in the branches above, their song still tentative, as though they, too, are waking slowly. My furry companions wander at my side, a comforting presence in this tender beginning. From beyond the trees, the clip-clop of an Amish horse and carriage adds its steady rhythm to the morning—an earthy heartbeat for this new day.

Though my body feels tired, my heart fills with gratitude. Gratitude is my natural response when I turn my thoughts toward the best that life has to offer. Gratitude for the beauty of this world, for the companionship of those I love, for the promise held in each new sunrise.

In this moment, I remember: I am a unique expression of the Universe. Within me flows the same divine presence that has shaped galaxies, rivers, flowers, and stars. By opening my heart, I reconnect with the indwelling life, love, wisdom, and strength that have carried me through challenges and guided me toward growth.

The morning’s cool air feels like a blessing. The blooms in my garden glow with quiet joy, reminding me that life continually renews itself. Even in times of weariness, the light returns, the flowers open, the songbirds sing again. And so, my heart sings with gratitude too.
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And so, this day begins.

~Wylddane

“Rather than looking for miracles, shift to seeing everything as miraculous.”   ~Wayne Dyer

This morning has dawned clear and cool. The heavy air of humidity, with its stifling dew points, has lifted for now, leaving behind a gentleness that feels like a gift. The air conditioner rests in silence, the windows and French door stand open, welcoming the fresh morning breeze as it wanders into the house.

Most mornings, when I can, I wander through my gardens with a coffee mug in hand, listening to the birds, touching the blooms, and letting the rhythm of the earth set the tone for the day. Yet not every day is like that. Some mornings I take a different walk—a walk down “Memory Lane.” It may not be a physical path, but it is just as real.

On those mornings, classical music hums softly in the background, or perhaps I read, or simply gaze out the window, seeing everything and nothing at the same time. My faithful mug of coffee sits close by, its fragrance mingling with the cool air, its warmth grounding me in the moment. Thoughts drift—moments of the past returning with vivid detail. I find myself once more on the banks of the St. Croix River at Spanglers Landing, the spring leaves bright with fresh green, the water reflecting the trees in shimmering patterns. The river is steady, timeless, and yet forever changing—just as memory is.

Then my mind shifts back to the day at hand. The beauty of its promise is as alive as the memory of the river. The miracle is not only in what was, but in what is right now—this moment, this breath, this sip of coffee, this breeze across my cheek.

Years ago, Dr. Wayne Dyer’s Your Erroneous Zones was placed in my hands, and it quietly transformed the way I thought about life. His words, still whispered across the years, remind me daily to shift my perception: “Change your view of the world...Change your view of the world to one of awe and bewilderment. Rather than looking for miracles, shift to seeing everything as miraculous.”

How wondrous to begin the day with this reminder—that life is not waiting to reveal miracles somewhere out there, but is itself the miracle. Each moment, each note of music, each memory and each hope, every clear morning and every storm, is woven into a tapestry of wonder.
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And so, with coffee in hand and a heart awakened to the miraculous, I begin this new day.

~Wylddane

“Thoughts are the currents of the soul; choose the ones that carry you home.”   ~Wylddane

This morning, as I gaze out the window, coffee mug full of steaming deliciousness close at hand, my thoughts meander like a river. Past, present, and future drift before me—sometimes pausing in quiet pools, sometimes rushing ahead toward unseen destinations. I find myself standing at the shore of it all, watching, listening, learning.

It has been an interesting summer. First came the health challenges and the slow work of recovery. Then, a sky thick with smoke from distant Canadian wildfires, followed by weeks of stifling humidity that weighed heavy on both body and spirit. And woven into this tapestry of days was loss—Leona, my little companion, crossing the Rainbow Bridge. Beyond my window, too, the world feels aflame, with the dark shadows of hatred and division growing louder. In such tumultuous times, it can feel nearly impossible to stay rooted in the present moment.

And yet—I return to the gentle reminder of Dr. Dyer: “Change your thoughts, change your life.” The power contained in those simple words humbles me. My greatest freedom may be this: the ability to choose my thoughts. I understand now, more than ever, that the thoughts I hold become the building blocks of the life I live.

So today, I choose thoughts that affirm strength, love, and resilience. I speak words of harmony and peace, even if softly, even if only to myself. In doing so, I create ripples that flow outward, bringing with them ease, grace, and even joy.

When I find myself facing circumstances I cannot control, I turn back to this truth: my mind is a creative force. I can direct it toward despair, or I can direct it toward hope. I can dwell in fear, or I can live in faith. What I think, I become.
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Perhaps I am, as we all are, a work in progress—or better yet, a work that is progressing. The river of time will always flow, but I have the power to shape the meaning of each moment as it passes. And so, I begin this new day with awareness—aware of my role in shaping what it is, what it will be, and the memory it will one day become.

~Wylddane

“The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears.”  ~Native American Proverb

The wee cottage in the woods continues to feel quiet and unfamiliar. Each day, I inch along the path of getting used to it, though it still feels like a stranger’s home without Leona. She was a small cat, yet she carried a presence so large—full of energy, endlessly talkative, and deeply loving. I grieve her absence. I miss her voice, her companionship, her curious eyes. And yet, I know in my heart it was the right time for her to cross the Rainbow Bridge. Still, I wonder—why does it hurt so much even when we do the right thing?

This morning, I choose to honor her memory. I carry with me a thankful heart for the years we were family, for the joy and life she brought to these rooms. The ache remains, but so does the love.

The air is heavy with summer’s breath, a low fog resting across the ground before whispering itself away. A shaft of sunlight cuts through the haze, spotlighting a black-eyed Susan hiding in the shade. Its golden petals reach outward, as if stretching toward joy itself. I smile at the sight.

I continue along the garden path. My cottontail friend is there, nibbling happily at what must be the finest of grasses. On the porch, the neighbor’s tuxedo cat sits as if he owns the place, surveying the world with an air of calm superiority. That little dickens! A neighbor strolls past with his retriever, and we exchange greetings.

So, this new day begins—not in grand gestures, but in small blessings: the warmth of sunlight on a flower, the playful defiance of a neighbor’s cat, the quiet company of creatures who share this place with me.

Last night, before drifting off to sleep, I read the words of Rev. Kurt Condra:

“The brilliance of divine light now illuminates any dark or brooding thoughts. I am free of burdensome or anxious feelings, free of thoughts that blind. Free in spirit.”

This morning, I feel those words settling in me. I embrace this day. I embrace this life. I embrace this garden, this sunlight, this fog. I embrace even the ache of loss, for it reminds me of love.

And I am.

~Wylddane

This morning began with a heart heavy with worry. My early coffee garden walk, usually a time of ease and prayer, felt cluttered with anxious thoughts—what will today bring with the decline in Leona’s health? She has been my companion, my love, my joy for these last three years, and today I stand at the edge of one of life’s hardest decisions.

The air is cooler today, blessedly so. A fresh breeze has swept the weight of humidity away, and the extended forecast promises comfort for the next ten days. As the breeze stirs the branches, I hear the trill of a cardinal, his bright song announcing morning’s arrival. Overhead, a flock of geese flies by in their V-shaped formation, honking as though urging one another onward, each taking their turn at the front, each supporting the other. The garden is lush in this late August light. Blossoms hang heavy, colors deepened by the season’s maturity. These small moments—the cardinal, the geese, the flowers—are not so small at all. They are the fabric of life itself, reminding me that peace can be found even when the heart trembles.

Leona drank water this morning, and my spirit leapt with joy at the sight. Yet she still turns from food, and reality whispers gently but firmly: this cannot continue. I search for strength in the rustle of leaves, for wisdom in the voices of the birds, for courage in the light streaming across the garden.

“It is the most unselfish act in all of life to let one go that we have found beloved.” Those words echo within me. Having a cat blesses us with some of the happiest days of our lives—and inevitably, with one of the hardest. Today may be such a day.

As I walk among the blossoms, I remind myself that courage is not the absence of fear but the quiet strength to act with love even when every part of me wants to cling. The decision to let go is not one of abandonment, but of mercy. To hold on too long is to make her suffering about my need; to let go is to make it about her peace.

The garden steadies me. The flowers remind me of the cycles of life, how every bloom must fade to seed, and every seed carries forward the promise of beauty yet unseen. Helen Keller once said, “What we have once enjoyed we can never lose; all that we have loved deeply becomes a part of us.” These words ring true in this morning light. Leona will always be with me, stitched into my heart, her love woven into my days.
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Today is not easy. But in the stillness of this morning, in the whisper of the breeze, I find peace waiting quietly, ready to walk with me through the hours ahead.

~Wylddane