"Clematis Morning Reflection" (Text & Image Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
"Live in the present moment. It is the only moment available to us, and it is the door to all moments."
~Thich Nhat Hanh
This morning, a soft summer breeze drifts through the open window beside my desk. Piano notes tiptoe through the rooms of the wee cottage while sunlight slowly gilds the tops of the trees. My coffee is warm. The day is young. And outside, the clematis is blooming.
Its royal-purple blossoms seem to have arrived almost overnight, climbing and weaving through the weathered wood of the trellis with an effortless grace. Yet there is nothing effortless about what it has done. Every blossom is the result of countless small acts of reaching—one tendril at a time, one twist, one careful grasp toward the light.
The clematis is often called the climbing queen. It cannot stand tall on its own. Instead, it finds support where it can and wraps itself around what is sturdy. In the Victorian language of flowers, it symbolized ingenuity and the beauty of the mind. Its clever tendrils know how to navigate obstacles, find pathways upward, and transform simple structures into living works of art.
As I watch it sway in the morning light, I find myself thinking about the people who have done the same in my own life.
Like the clematis, none of us truly grows alone.
Some people entered our lives briefly, leaving behind only a memory or a lesson. Others wrapped themselves around our hearts so completely that even years later we still feel their presence. Parents. Friends. Teachers. Lovers. Neighbors. Kind strangers. The people who encouraged us when we doubted ourselves, who shared our laughter, who sat beside us during grief, who helped us become who we are.
The clematis reminds me that our lives are intertwined in ways we often fail to notice. We support one another. We steady one another. We grow because others have helped us reach places we could not have reached alone.
Perhaps that is why gratitude feels so natural on mornings like this.
Not gratitude for grand achievements or extraordinary moments, but for the simple and sacred reality of connection.
As Frances Hodgson Burnett wrote in The Secret Garden, there is something magical about the "swinging sprays and tendrils" that weave themselves over walls and trees. Nature seems to understand a truth that humans sometimes forget: growth is rarely a straight line. It twists. It climbs. It adapts. It finds unexpected routes toward the sun.
And so do we.
Life asks us to weather storms. It asks us to endure losses, disappointments, and seasons when growth seems impossible. Yet the clematis teaches another lesson. Even after the winds have blown and the rains have passed, it continues its quiet ascent. It reaches upward not with force, but with persistence.
There is wisdom in that.
So often we believe happiness waits somewhere in the future. We tell ourselves we will fully live when circumstances improve, when goals are achieved, when problems are solved. Yet standing at the window this morning, watching sunlight touch the purple blooms, I am reminded of Dr. Wayne Dyer's words:
"Make a commitment to live joyfully in the moment. Stop dreaming about the future and get back to the only thing any of us have."
The only thing any of us have is this morning.
This sip of coffee.
This breeze through the window.
This music drifting through the room.
This blossom reaching toward the sun.
This beautiful ordinary day.
The clematis does not spend its energy wishing it were already at the top of the trellis. It simply continues growing toward the light available to it right now.
Perhaps that is enough for us as well.
And so, with gratitude for those who have wrapped themselves around my life, for the lessons learned from both joy and sorrow, and for the gift of another summer day, I take another sip of coffee and watch the sunlight spread across the world.
The clematis climbs.
The morning unfolds.
And here, in this moment, there is more than enough reason to be grateful.
~Wylddane
~Thich Nhat Hanh
This morning, a soft summer breeze drifts through the open window beside my desk. Piano notes tiptoe through the rooms of the wee cottage while sunlight slowly gilds the tops of the trees. My coffee is warm. The day is young. And outside, the clematis is blooming.
Its royal-purple blossoms seem to have arrived almost overnight, climbing and weaving through the weathered wood of the trellis with an effortless grace. Yet there is nothing effortless about what it has done. Every blossom is the result of countless small acts of reaching—one tendril at a time, one twist, one careful grasp toward the light.
The clematis is often called the climbing queen. It cannot stand tall on its own. Instead, it finds support where it can and wraps itself around what is sturdy. In the Victorian language of flowers, it symbolized ingenuity and the beauty of the mind. Its clever tendrils know how to navigate obstacles, find pathways upward, and transform simple structures into living works of art.
As I watch it sway in the morning light, I find myself thinking about the people who have done the same in my own life.
Like the clematis, none of us truly grows alone.
Some people entered our lives briefly, leaving behind only a memory or a lesson. Others wrapped themselves around our hearts so completely that even years later we still feel their presence. Parents. Friends. Teachers. Lovers. Neighbors. Kind strangers. The people who encouraged us when we doubted ourselves, who shared our laughter, who sat beside us during grief, who helped us become who we are.
The clematis reminds me that our lives are intertwined in ways we often fail to notice. We support one another. We steady one another. We grow because others have helped us reach places we could not have reached alone.
Perhaps that is why gratitude feels so natural on mornings like this.
Not gratitude for grand achievements or extraordinary moments, but for the simple and sacred reality of connection.
As Frances Hodgson Burnett wrote in The Secret Garden, there is something magical about the "swinging sprays and tendrils" that weave themselves over walls and trees. Nature seems to understand a truth that humans sometimes forget: growth is rarely a straight line. It twists. It climbs. It adapts. It finds unexpected routes toward the sun.
And so do we.
Life asks us to weather storms. It asks us to endure losses, disappointments, and seasons when growth seems impossible. Yet the clematis teaches another lesson. Even after the winds have blown and the rains have passed, it continues its quiet ascent. It reaches upward not with force, but with persistence.
There is wisdom in that.
So often we believe happiness waits somewhere in the future. We tell ourselves we will fully live when circumstances improve, when goals are achieved, when problems are solved. Yet standing at the window this morning, watching sunlight touch the purple blooms, I am reminded of Dr. Wayne Dyer's words:
"Make a commitment to live joyfully in the moment. Stop dreaming about the future and get back to the only thing any of us have."
The only thing any of us have is this morning.
This sip of coffee.
This breeze through the window.
This music drifting through the room.
This blossom reaching toward the sun.
This beautiful ordinary day.
The clematis does not spend its energy wishing it were already at the top of the trellis. It simply continues growing toward the light available to it right now.
Perhaps that is enough for us as well.
And so, with gratitude for those who have wrapped themselves around my life, for the lessons learned from both joy and sorrow, and for the gift of another summer day, I take another sip of coffee and watch the sunlight spread across the world.
The clematis climbs.
The morning unfolds.
And here, in this moment, there is more than enough reason to be grateful.
~Wylddane
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