"Veloria" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
This morning, as I stepped into my garden with coffee in hand, the world greeted me with a lush breath of green and gold. The air was thick with summer’s warmth, heavy with humidity, and buzzing softly with life.
Thunderstorms may be whispering their way in later today, but for now, the sun pours itself generously over leaf and petal alike. And in that light, along the meandering edge of my path, I came across a flower I’ve never quite named.
But today, I’ve given her a name: "Veloria".
She leans with a sort of graceful weariness, her golden petals curling slightly at the tips, like a dancer pausing in the middle of a reverent bow. A few petals are already loosening, as if caught in the long exhale of summer’s breath. She stands as a quiet sentinel, watching peacefully, listening to wind through trees, and bearing witness to the miracle of morning.
I think of the words of Thich Nhat Hanh:
“People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize...”
And how true that is...how often I forget. Especially on mornings when sciatic pain nags at my steps and reminds me that my body, though tired in parts, is still wonderfully alive. I hobble through the garden some days, yes. But I hobble toward birdsong. I hobble through clouds of blooming color. I hobble through sunlight pouring through the pine boughs. I hobble in gratitude.
Veloria, this blossom born of morning light and midsummer dreams, didn’t need my identification to be magnificent. Her moment of bloom...whether brief or lingering...was enough. As I stood in her presence, I remembered: this too is the miracle. Not just the bloom itself, but my seeing it. My being here, now.
The miracle is the moist soil beneath my feet. The steam rising from my coffee mug. The cardinal's fluted call greeting my soul. The memory of laughter. The ache of the body and the lightness of the spirit coexisting in one breath.
And so, I pause. I look. I listen. I give thanks.
Because every moment is a miracle.
Even this one.
* * * * * * * * * *
"The real miracle is to walk on this earth." ~Thich Nhat Hanh
~Wylddane
Thunderstorms may be whispering their way in later today, but for now, the sun pours itself generously over leaf and petal alike. And in that light, along the meandering edge of my path, I came across a flower I’ve never quite named.
But today, I’ve given her a name: "Veloria".
She leans with a sort of graceful weariness, her golden petals curling slightly at the tips, like a dancer pausing in the middle of a reverent bow. A few petals are already loosening, as if caught in the long exhale of summer’s breath. She stands as a quiet sentinel, watching peacefully, listening to wind through trees, and bearing witness to the miracle of morning.
I think of the words of Thich Nhat Hanh:
“People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize...”
And how true that is...how often I forget. Especially on mornings when sciatic pain nags at my steps and reminds me that my body, though tired in parts, is still wonderfully alive. I hobble through the garden some days, yes. But I hobble toward birdsong. I hobble through clouds of blooming color. I hobble through sunlight pouring through the pine boughs. I hobble in gratitude.
Veloria, this blossom born of morning light and midsummer dreams, didn’t need my identification to be magnificent. Her moment of bloom...whether brief or lingering...was enough. As I stood in her presence, I remembered: this too is the miracle. Not just the bloom itself, but my seeing it. My being here, now.
The miracle is the moist soil beneath my feet. The steam rising from my coffee mug. The cardinal's fluted call greeting my soul. The memory of laughter. The ache of the body and the lightness of the spirit coexisting in one breath.
And so, I pause. I look. I listen. I give thanks.
Because every moment is a miracle.
Even this one.
* * * * * * * * * *
"The real miracle is to walk on this earth." ~Thich Nhat Hanh
~Wylddane
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