Reflections

The sun drops low and everything softens.

Light slants gold through the canopy.
Birds sing like they're calling something home.

You press your palm to bark and feel the hum of something ancient.
The tree holds centuries. You hold this breath.

Nothing is asked of you here.
No proof. No capture. No story for later.

Just stand where the glow can find you.
Let it pass through without grasping.

The door opens briefly.
The wise ones simply walk through.

Last night I stood under the stars and the week fell away.

All that noise. All that urgency. Gone.

Not solved. Just shrunk.

The sky doesn't care what's in your head.
It never did.
And standing beneath something that vast, you stop caring too.

This is what life is about.

Not the problems.
The perspective.

Smallness isn't defeat.
It's relief.

The universe doesn't worry.
Why should you?

When summer rolls in the leaves change.
Not in shape but in spirit.
They catch the light in a new way.
Greens soften. Shadows warm.
The whole canopy feels alive again.

Let the season remind you how easily beauty returns.

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.

A notebook full of ideas looks impressive. Pages of plans. Circles and arrows.
But nothing in your life shifts until something in your day does.

Knowing what to do feels satisfying. It tricks you into thinking you’ve already begun.
But knowledge is only the doorway. The work lives on the other side.

Every leap starts with a step you actually take.
Energy follows action.

I used to think ravens were against me.
They always showed up when something felt off. I took it as a curse.

But today they guided me away from traffic, calling out turns I shouldn’t take.
Their presence wasn’t punishment. It was protection.

Maybe they were never the bad omen.
Maybe I just didn’t want to hear their bad news.

Old things hold their own weight.
Unused, they gather dust and lose their spark. Like water left standing, they turn stale.

Energy moves where attention goes.
Keep too tight a grip on what’s done, and the new can’t find its way in.

Clearing space isn’t loss. It’s invitation.

It felt like I took the sunshine with me today.
Each place I arrived, the clouds broke apart.
Grey skies turned clear. Heavy air lifted.

Maybe the sky does change with us.
Maybe light follows where it’s felt most.

Joy can travel.
It leaves every place a little brighter than before.

From a distance, every mountain looks impossible.
Too steep, too far, too much.

Most of the time, that size only exists in our head.
Fear stretches the slope and thickens the air.

But the first step always shrinks it.
Each move makes the climb more real, and less terrifying.

What feels impossible is often just unfamiliar.

We’re taught to pay someone else. Things are too hard, too technical, better left to the experts.

But I replaced a headlight. Then a brake accumulator. Both jobs I once thought belonged to a mechanic.

I’m not a mechanic. I just decided to try.

Almost anything we need to know is already written down. It’s searchable, accessible, and sitting in our pockets.

What seems impossible is usually just unfamiliar. On the other side is the quiet thrill of "I did it."