Reflections

A sunset can stop you in your tracks.
A single eucalyptus can settle your whole chest.

It’s wild how often we look for more than we need.
More plans more progress more reasons to feel grounded.
Yet the smallest scenes are the ones that actually land.

Sometimes it only takes one quiet moment to steady you again.
A soft sky. A tall tree. A breath that finally reaches the bottom.

Stillness isn’t rare. We just forget to look for it.

The ground always finds a way back.
Burnt fields turn green. Rivers clear. Forests rebuild in their own time.

The trouble is the noise around us.
Everyone has an opinion on what counts as real impact.
Big moves. Loud moves. Perfect moves.

But the earth doesn’t score it like that.
It notices small care.
A bit of restraint. A choice made with care.
Quiet actions that don’t ask for praise.

Your effort might not be the thing that saves it.
But the earth will still remember how you showed up.

When I was a kid I showed my dad a magic trick with a gold coin. I made it vanish.
The wild part is it never came back. Not in my hands at least.

Yet for years I’ve found gold coins in the strangest places.
Footpaths. Car parks. Random pockets.
Like the trick kept echoing long after the moment passed.

Maybe some things don’t disappear.
They just choose new ways to return.

Two hands point at the sky.
A quiet wish for the clouds to move.

Not long later they do.
The sun slips through for a breath.

Maybe it’s coincidence.
Maybe it’s the universe winking back.

Some things don’t need answers.
Just a moment of stillness to be felt.

I watched the clock hit 1pm and felt that drop in my stomach.
The big task I planned to finish by now is still open.
A project I care about. A deadline I set.
The pressure hit hard.

It’s wild how fast the mind turns a late milestone into a judgement.
Not just "I’m behind."
More like "I’m failing."
That slide into frustration happens before you even notice it.

But a personal deadline isn’t a verdict.
It’s a marker on a path you chose.
You can shift it without breaking anything.
You can slow down without losing the work.

The task is still the task.
The day is still wide open.
You’re not failing. You’re adjusting.

Last night I saw a number plate: 2CE6LL.
I read it as to see all.

Lately I’ve been questioning my purpose. Wondering what I’m meant to do.
But maybe it’s not about doing at all.

Maybe my purpose is to see… completely.
To notice the small patterns, the connected movements, the way everything ripples through everything else.

We’re not separate from the wave. We are the wave, learning to see itself.

The more I pay attention, the more the universe feels less like a puzzle and more like a mirror.

The mower hums. Grass folds.
Each row a quiet act of order.

It isn’t about the lawn. It’s about attention.
Effort you can see. Care you can measure.

Maybe pride lives here.
In the small things we shape.

I walked outside and saw a bee drift past.
Said “hello” out loud, half a joke.

Then came a buzz right past my ear.
Maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe it was saying hello back.

Sometimes connection isn’t about words.
It’s about noticing what replies when you speak to the world.

At the supermarket I spotted a free checkout.
No line, no fuss. I walked up, the operator smiled, and I was out in minutes.

On the way out I passed a queue of people waiting for the self-serve.
They’d chosen more work, slower progress, because that’s what we’ve been trained to do.

Sometimes the easier path isn’t hidden.
We’ve just stopped looking for it.

Lorikeets are the F1s of the sky.

They flash past in a burst of colour and sound, faster than you expect, gone before you know it.

If you hear them, don’t wait. Look up. Notice.

Some things are only magic if you’re present enough to catch them.