"Star of Moning" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
Morning arrived here in the northwoods cool and crisp, like a breath held by the earth overnight and only now exhaled. Stepping onto the deck, mug of steaming coffee in hand, I was greeted not just by the day, but by its quiet symphony: the fluted call of a cardinal, the melodic rhapsody of a Jenny Wren, and the steady, comforting “good morning” of a robin. Each note felt like a blessing. Nearby, my quiet companion—the cottontail rabbit—was already awake and content, munching on green delicacies beneath a shrub as if to say, “All is well in this moment.”
The sky was still cloaked in soft gray, but along the eastern horizon, a blush of gold and copper hinted at the approach of the sun. The air was pure, touched with dew, and every breath I drew felt like a prayer, unspoken but understood by the universe.
Then, among the green, I saw it—a single Star of Morning. That’s what I’ve come to call the day lily that blooms near the edge of my garden path. Bold, radiant, open. Its petals seemed to catch and reflect even the faintest light, as if sunrise had already arrived within its golden trumpet. There was something sacred in its presence—a quiet courage in the way it stood, unguarded, offering beauty with no expectation. In that moment, it wasn’t just a flower—it was a message: be here, be bright, be still and true.
In this tumble-jumble world with its constant roar of headlines, distractions, and division, these small, quiet morning miracles are balm for the soul. They ground me. Remind me. Reconnect me. It is in these moments...coffee warming my palms, birds greeting the dawn, a rabbit nibbling clover, a flower turning toward the light...that I feel most alive, most present, most me. I am not separate from the world; I am part of it. I belong.
Thich Nhat Hanh once wrote, “We have a lamp inside us, the lamp of mindfulness, which we can light any time. The oil of that lamp is our breathing, our steps, and our peaceful smile.” And it is true—when I am fully here, in these moments that the world offers freely, my inner lamp burns gently but steadily. The darkness, both within and without, recedes. The noise fades. Peace returns.
And so I start my day—not rushing, not reaching, but receiving. Breathing in the sacredness of now. Letting the world be enough. Letting the light of my lamp spill quietly into the morning.
"Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis on which the whole earth revolves—slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future." ~Thich Nhat Hanh
~Wylddane
The sky was still cloaked in soft gray, but along the eastern horizon, a blush of gold and copper hinted at the approach of the sun. The air was pure, touched with dew, and every breath I drew felt like a prayer, unspoken but understood by the universe.
Then, among the green, I saw it—a single Star of Morning. That’s what I’ve come to call the day lily that blooms near the edge of my garden path. Bold, radiant, open. Its petals seemed to catch and reflect even the faintest light, as if sunrise had already arrived within its golden trumpet. There was something sacred in its presence—a quiet courage in the way it stood, unguarded, offering beauty with no expectation. In that moment, it wasn’t just a flower—it was a message: be here, be bright, be still and true.
In this tumble-jumble world with its constant roar of headlines, distractions, and division, these small, quiet morning miracles are balm for the soul. They ground me. Remind me. Reconnect me. It is in these moments...coffee warming my palms, birds greeting the dawn, a rabbit nibbling clover, a flower turning toward the light...that I feel most alive, most present, most me. I am not separate from the world; I am part of it. I belong.
Thich Nhat Hanh once wrote, “We have a lamp inside us, the lamp of mindfulness, which we can light any time. The oil of that lamp is our breathing, our steps, and our peaceful smile.” And it is true—when I am fully here, in these moments that the world offers freely, my inner lamp burns gently but steadily. The darkness, both within and without, recedes. The noise fades. Peace returns.
And so I start my day—not rushing, not reaching, but receiving. Breathing in the sacredness of now. Letting the world be enough. Letting the light of my lamp spill quietly into the morning.
"Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis on which the whole earth revolves—slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future." ~Thich Nhat Hanh
~Wylddane
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