"November Memories" (Text & Image Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
The ornament hung gently from a low pine branch, its crystal-clear surface catching the morning light like a prism. Inside, the snowy forest scene mirrored the world around it—evergreens dusted in white, the hush of winter settling over the yard. It was Thanksgiving morning, and the yard outside the old family home was quiet, save for the crunch of boots and the distant laughter of family arriving.
That ornament had been placed there by his father, who always insisted that beauty belonged outdoors as much as in. It became a tradition—one ornament, one branch, one moment of stillness before the day began. Inside the house, the warmth of cinnamon and roasted turkey filled the air. The table was already set, mismatched plates and cloth napkins folded with care. His mother hummed as she basted the bird, and he and his brother argued over who got the wishbone.
Years passed. The yard changed. The house changed. He changed. But the memory of that ornament—clear as glass, quiet as snow—remained. Later Thanksgivings were spent in city apartments, mountain cabins, and once, on a beach with friends who had become family. There were years of laughter, years of longing, and years of rediscovery. But always, the spirit of that ornament returned: a reminder of stillness, of connection, of the magic tucked inside ordinary moments.
* * * * * * * * * *
It’s a quiet morning in the wee cottage. The windows glow with the soft light of early winter, and the hush outside feels like a held breath. Klami’s Nocturne drifts through the rooms like a gentle snowfall, each note a whisper of calm. The coffee is hot, fragrant, grounding. It warms the hands and the heart.
In this moment, there is no rush. No list. No momentum pulling forward. Just presence.
Eckhart Tolle writes, “To stay present in everyday life, it helps to be deeply rooted within yourself; otherwise, the mind, which has incredible momentum, will drag you along like a wild river.” And how true that feels now. The world is full of currents—news, plans, worries, memories. But here, in this quiet, we find the anchor. We root ourselves not in the noise, but in the breath, the warmth, the music, the scent of coffee.
To be deeply rooted is not to resist the river, but to stand firm on the riverbank. To watch the flow and know you are not it. You are the stillness beneath it. The ornament in the snow. The tree that holds it. The memory that lives on.
"In the stillness of the morning, the soul remembers." ~Anon
~Wylddane
That ornament had been placed there by his father, who always insisted that beauty belonged outdoors as much as in. It became a tradition—one ornament, one branch, one moment of stillness before the day began. Inside the house, the warmth of cinnamon and roasted turkey filled the air. The table was already set, mismatched plates and cloth napkins folded with care. His mother hummed as she basted the bird, and he and his brother argued over who got the wishbone.
Years passed. The yard changed. The house changed. He changed. But the memory of that ornament—clear as glass, quiet as snow—remained. Later Thanksgivings were spent in city apartments, mountain cabins, and once, on a beach with friends who had become family. There were years of laughter, years of longing, and years of rediscovery. But always, the spirit of that ornament returned: a reminder of stillness, of connection, of the magic tucked inside ordinary moments.
* * * * * * * * * *
It’s a quiet morning in the wee cottage. The windows glow with the soft light of early winter, and the hush outside feels like a held breath. Klami’s Nocturne drifts through the rooms like a gentle snowfall, each note a whisper of calm. The coffee is hot, fragrant, grounding. It warms the hands and the heart.
In this moment, there is no rush. No list. No momentum pulling forward. Just presence.
Eckhart Tolle writes, “To stay present in everyday life, it helps to be deeply rooted within yourself; otherwise, the mind, which has incredible momentum, will drag you along like a wild river.” And how true that feels now. The world is full of currents—news, plans, worries, memories. But here, in this quiet, we find the anchor. We root ourselves not in the noise, but in the breath, the warmth, the music, the scent of coffee.
To be deeply rooted is not to resist the river, but to stand firm on the riverbank. To watch the flow and know you are not it. You are the stillness beneath it. The ornament in the snow. The tree that holds it. The memory that lives on.
"In the stillness of the morning, the soul remembers." ~Anon
~Wylddane
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