"July Garden Moments" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
This week, the weather has danced its own strange choreography. For days, the air was thick with heat — humid, heavy, almost tropical. Then, as if the skies themselves grew weary, rain fell gently yesterday, cooling the world and rinsing the dust from every leaf and bloom. And this morning — oh, this morning — it dawned clear and crisp, the air kissed with the kind of chill that belongs more to September than July. At 48 degrees, I reached for a jacket for my early garden coffee walk.
As I stepped outside, my mug steamed into the cool morning air, wisps curling upward like soft prayers. The familiar ritual of walking through my garden grounded me — the quiet rustle of leaves, the distant chorus of waking birds, the hum of bees already at work. There’s a particular kind of peace that only early morning can bring, and today it settled around me like a shawl.
More flowers are blooming now, each day unfurling new color. And then, there it was — my old friend, the "Whatchamacallit." I named it that years ago in a moment of bemused affection, not knowing its real name and never quite bothering to find out. Is it wild? Is it domestic? I honestly couldn’t say. What I do know is this: it delights me. Its vibrant purple fronds, wild and shaggy like a botanical firework frozen mid-bloom, always catch my eye. It stands there confidently, unapologetically itself, in my garden of everything — a little wild, a little whimsical, a little wonderful.
When I see it, I smile. But it’s more than a smile — it’s a moment of inner completeness. A soft thrum of joy that radiates from my chest outward. A whisper of contentment. That’s when I realized: this is a glimmer.
Someone once said, “Have you heard about glimmers? They are the opposite of triggers. A glimmer is a micro-moment of happiness. A sign of hope. Once you begin to look for them, they will start to appear everywhere. Believe!”
And I do believe.
I believe in these small but radiant offerings — like morning light dappling through leaves, like steam rising from a cup, like the surprise of a purple bloom whose name I never knew but whose presence I’ve come to treasure. These moments...these glimmers...are what stitch the soul back together when the world frays us at the edges. They are simple. They are quiet. They are sacred.
Today, my Whatchamacallit reminded me again: joy doesn’t always arrive with fireworks or fanfare.
Sometimes, it stands quietly in a corner of the garden, blooming just for you.
All you have to do is notice.
“Once you begin to notice the small joys, you’ll find they were never small after all.” ~Anonymous
~Wylddane
As I stepped outside, my mug steamed into the cool morning air, wisps curling upward like soft prayers. The familiar ritual of walking through my garden grounded me — the quiet rustle of leaves, the distant chorus of waking birds, the hum of bees already at work. There’s a particular kind of peace that only early morning can bring, and today it settled around me like a shawl.
More flowers are blooming now, each day unfurling new color. And then, there it was — my old friend, the "Whatchamacallit." I named it that years ago in a moment of bemused affection, not knowing its real name and never quite bothering to find out. Is it wild? Is it domestic? I honestly couldn’t say. What I do know is this: it delights me. Its vibrant purple fronds, wild and shaggy like a botanical firework frozen mid-bloom, always catch my eye. It stands there confidently, unapologetically itself, in my garden of everything — a little wild, a little whimsical, a little wonderful.
When I see it, I smile. But it’s more than a smile — it’s a moment of inner completeness. A soft thrum of joy that radiates from my chest outward. A whisper of contentment. That’s when I realized: this is a glimmer.
Someone once said, “Have you heard about glimmers? They are the opposite of triggers. A glimmer is a micro-moment of happiness. A sign of hope. Once you begin to look for them, they will start to appear everywhere. Believe!”
And I do believe.
I believe in these small but radiant offerings — like morning light dappling through leaves, like steam rising from a cup, like the surprise of a purple bloom whose name I never knew but whose presence I’ve come to treasure. These moments...these glimmers...are what stitch the soul back together when the world frays us at the edges. They are simple. They are quiet. They are sacred.
Today, my Whatchamacallit reminded me again: joy doesn’t always arrive with fireworks or fanfare.
Sometimes, it stands quietly in a corner of the garden, blooming just for you.
All you have to do is notice.
“Once you begin to notice the small joys, you’ll find they were never small after all.” ~Anonymous
~Wylddane
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