"I Wonder..." (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
There is something quietly symbolic about a wooded path, especially one softened by recent rain, overgrown with summer's green abundance. The photo I took the other day along the northern reaches of the St. Croix River captures such a moment — a narrow trail winding forward through ferns, grasses, and trees, inviting me to step in without revealing what lies beyond the bend. It is a familiar feeling, not only in the forest, but in life itself.
This morning, rain falls gently on the northwoods. Instead of walking through my garden, coffee in hand, I’m inside, listening to the soft symphony of rain through an open window. The birds continue their morning chorus as if to remind me that even in stillness, the world moves forward. It’s the perfect setting for reflection — and today, my mind drifts to decisions.
Someone very wise once told me that life is about decisions — and that even not making a decision is, in fact, a decision. Where I sit now, where any of us sit, is the cumulative result of every choice made: the deliberate, the impulsive, the reluctant, and even the ones we thought were made for us. Together, they form the landscape of our lives, just like the forest floor shaped by countless fallen leaves, weathered roots, and meandering streams.
There are decisions I look back on with pride and gratitude. Others — well, there are regrets. And that same wise soul said something else that stuck with me: If you have no regrets, you’re not truly awake. Not truly human. Regret doesn’t mean failure; it means feeling, growing, evolving. It means you cared. It means you tried.
Each path we take becomes part of us. Some lead to unexpected beauty, others to loss, and some to nothing more than a clearing where we pause, reflect, and begin again. The paths chosen — and even those we walked away from — carve our character. They’re the hidden contours beneath our skin, the echoes in our laughter, the pauses in our voice when we recall the past.
There are, of course, those small decisions that pass unnoticed in the moment: a conversation we almost didn’t have, a book we nearly didn’t read, a walk we almost skipped. And yet, how often do these seemingly insignificant steps become the most transformative?
So today, as the rain nourishes the woods beyond my window and memory stirs with the hush of falling drops, I think of the many paths I’ve walked — and those yet to come. I think of choice as a sacred act. A risk. A whisper of hope. A step forward.
And I feel gratitude — even for the crooked, muddy, uncertain trails. For they led me here. To this morning. To this moment of peace, reflection, and the soft warmth of coffee in my hands.
“We are our choices.”
— Jean-Paul Sartre
~Wylddane
This morning, rain falls gently on the northwoods. Instead of walking through my garden, coffee in hand, I’m inside, listening to the soft symphony of rain through an open window. The birds continue their morning chorus as if to remind me that even in stillness, the world moves forward. It’s the perfect setting for reflection — and today, my mind drifts to decisions.
Someone very wise once told me that life is about decisions — and that even not making a decision is, in fact, a decision. Where I sit now, where any of us sit, is the cumulative result of every choice made: the deliberate, the impulsive, the reluctant, and even the ones we thought were made for us. Together, they form the landscape of our lives, just like the forest floor shaped by countless fallen leaves, weathered roots, and meandering streams.
There are decisions I look back on with pride and gratitude. Others — well, there are regrets. And that same wise soul said something else that stuck with me: If you have no regrets, you’re not truly awake. Not truly human. Regret doesn’t mean failure; it means feeling, growing, evolving. It means you cared. It means you tried.
Each path we take becomes part of us. Some lead to unexpected beauty, others to loss, and some to nothing more than a clearing where we pause, reflect, and begin again. The paths chosen — and even those we walked away from — carve our character. They’re the hidden contours beneath our skin, the echoes in our laughter, the pauses in our voice when we recall the past.
There are, of course, those small decisions that pass unnoticed in the moment: a conversation we almost didn’t have, a book we nearly didn’t read, a walk we almost skipped. And yet, how often do these seemingly insignificant steps become the most transformative?
So today, as the rain nourishes the woods beyond my window and memory stirs with the hush of falling drops, I think of the many paths I’ve walked — and those yet to come. I think of choice as a sacred act. A risk. A whisper of hope. A step forward.
And I feel gratitude — even for the crooked, muddy, uncertain trails. For they led me here. To this morning. To this moment of peace, reflection, and the soft warmth of coffee in my hands.
“We are our choices.”
— Jean-Paul Sartre
~Wylddane
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