We didn’t go far that day, and it took longer than I planned. But what we gained was something else entirely: a reminder that pausing is the point. That noticing is its own kind of journey.

They are morphing into this giant heap of dancing fiery oranges, golden yellows, and pumpkin oranges.  And this is all from a distance, down in the valley, from where I watch mother nature’s show.

There is magic in birdsong, if you allow it. It brings you into the present moment — gently pulling your attention away from the noise of the world and back to the now. Whether it’s a single Canyon Wren trill or a full sunrise chorus, these sounds encourage me to slow down, breathe deeply, and notice what’s around me.

This struggle between ambition and limitation serves as a poignant metaphor for the human condition. Dreams and desires are intrinsically tied to the circumstances that shape our lives; while we possess the power to ignite and inspire, we are often tethered to the realities of our environment.

A fire; powerful and mesmerizing, like a moth drawn to the light with an internal dialogue warning him no but he can’t resist.  If you get too close to it, you get burned.  Or you get an ember that shoots out and burns a hole in your sleeping your bag, or your coat.  Sending little warnings to remind us of its power for harm and destruction while at the same time us being immersed in the beauty of its display.

Rituals around a fire include bonding, silence, even with a group of people standing or sitting around the fire.  Not only is the fire dancing, but the people standing around the fire are also dancing as they shuffle spots all while trying to avoid the smoke as it shifts throughout the ritualistic gathering.