"Begonia Mornings" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
This morning, before the sun lifted its golden face above the horizon, I stepped quietly onto the deck. The sky held the hush of early dawn, a muted canvas between night and day. In that gray-blue stillness, I saw them—red blossoms, touched by dew, glowing with a richness that defied the hour. I raised my camera and captured them, their beauty a small act of defiance against the sorrow that had wrapped itself around the early hours of my mind.
I had awoken at 3 a.m.—not to the call of the day, but to the call of worry. The thoughts that swirled in the dark were not personal, but they pierced just the same. I thought of this country I love—the United States of America—and the deep, bleeding wound it suffers. A convicted felon allowed to steal an election. A high court so lost to ideology it no longer bends to the Constitution, but to its own dangerous whims. Rights chipped away. Truth distorted. Justice mocked.
In those hours before light, it is easy to feel despair.
But even as those thoughts whirled through my heart, I knew they were not the whole story. I cannot control what happens in the halls of power, but I can control how I live, how I love, how I show up in this world.
Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability—it comes through us. Through steady steps. Through quiet courage. Through refusing to give up on what is right, even in the shadow of wrong.
I thought of my parents, my grandparents, my uncles, aunts, cousins—those who lived through and fought in World War II. There must have been days when the axis of evil felt unstoppable to them too. But it was stopped. Not by magic, but by determination. By faith. By people who refused to surrender. The same spirit rises now, even as new forms of tyranny wear old, hateful masks.
One step at a time. One candle against the darkness. One flower blooming before dawn.
And then I remembered the words of James Dillet Freeman. Words that have met me in the darkest corners of my life and still stir the deepest chambers of my soul:
"You cannot see Me, yet I am the light you see by...
I am assurance. I am peace. I am oneness.
Though your faith in Me is unsure, My faith in you never wavers...
Beloved, I am there."
Yes. Even in fear, I am not alone. Even in grief, I am not forsaken. Even when I tremble at what the world is becoming, I hold steady because I am not holding alone.
There is power in remembering: the night is not eternal. The sun will rise. It always has. And even when I cannot see it, even when clouds of despair roll in, the sun is still there—just as love is still there. Just as faith is still there.
I took a picture of those flowers this morning, blooming as if they knew. And maybe they did. Maybe they were whispering the truth we all need to hear:
You are not powerless. You are not alone. The dawn will come. Keep going.
One step at a time. One small act of courage at a time. One blossoming moment of hope at a time.
We will prevail.
~Wylddane
I had awoken at 3 a.m.—not to the call of the day, but to the call of worry. The thoughts that swirled in the dark were not personal, but they pierced just the same. I thought of this country I love—the United States of America—and the deep, bleeding wound it suffers. A convicted felon allowed to steal an election. A high court so lost to ideology it no longer bends to the Constitution, but to its own dangerous whims. Rights chipped away. Truth distorted. Justice mocked.
In those hours before light, it is easy to feel despair.
But even as those thoughts whirled through my heart, I knew they were not the whole story. I cannot control what happens in the halls of power, but I can control how I live, how I love, how I show up in this world.
Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability—it comes through us. Through steady steps. Through quiet courage. Through refusing to give up on what is right, even in the shadow of wrong.
I thought of my parents, my grandparents, my uncles, aunts, cousins—those who lived through and fought in World War II. There must have been days when the axis of evil felt unstoppable to them too. But it was stopped. Not by magic, but by determination. By faith. By people who refused to surrender. The same spirit rises now, even as new forms of tyranny wear old, hateful masks.
One step at a time. One candle against the darkness. One flower blooming before dawn.
And then I remembered the words of James Dillet Freeman. Words that have met me in the darkest corners of my life and still stir the deepest chambers of my soul:
"You cannot see Me, yet I am the light you see by...
I am assurance. I am peace. I am oneness.
Though your faith in Me is unsure, My faith in you never wavers...
Beloved, I am there."
Yes. Even in fear, I am not alone. Even in grief, I am not forsaken. Even when I tremble at what the world is becoming, I hold steady because I am not holding alone.
There is power in remembering: the night is not eternal. The sun will rise. It always has. And even when I cannot see it, even when clouds of despair roll in, the sun is still there—just as love is still there. Just as faith is still there.
I took a picture of those flowers this morning, blooming as if they knew. And maybe they did. Maybe they were whispering the truth we all need to hear:
You are not powerless. You are not alone. The dawn will come. Keep going.
One step at a time. One small act of courage at a time. One blossoming moment of hope at a time.
We will prevail.
~Wylddane
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