For the exhausted:
May these small blessings
find you like a hand to the back,
steady and unhurried,
offering the quiet reminder that you are still here,
and that being here is enough.

Blazing goldfinches tugging at alpaca fleece—
building nests from whatever softness the world offers.
The startled leap of the silvered trout,
winter sleep shaken from its muscles,
lake water breaking open around it
in a cascade of sun dance.
The rattle of the scaffolding within you
as the pipe organ exhales its lowest tones in the postlude,
proclaiming something ancient is still holding.
The smile in the grocery parking lot,
half-surprise, half-recognition,
that tethers you back to the world.

Heavy waterfalls of early spring,
spilling over shale ledges—
liquid light—
urging the spirit to keep falling forward.
The timid ballet of blush-pink hellebore at the woodline.
Raspberry canes wicking up the April sun,
threading new life
as if remembering what they were made to do.
Thunder in dark hours.
Maple buds loosening along the hillsides.

Quiet cormorants
polishing winter from their wings
in the tall bare branches.
The scent of wet soil rising,
its dark sweetness relaxing your chest.
Thin green blades of wild onion
pushing upward in tiny defiance.
The slow comfort of sitting silently
beside a dear friend.
A porch light left on.

Simple kindnesses that pass between strangers.
The warm bowl of soup
smelling of home and hugs.
Moments when the guard is down—
when the sigh you didn’t know you were holding
releases.
And peace.
Sunlight glinting off the rim of your teacup.
Your pulse.

May these small, startling mercies
reach into the back channels of your spirit.
May they kindle there
some steady knowing
that life gathers around you.
May you feel this truth gently upon you:
the world is stunning in single, unhurried moments.