Counting Petals

Sometimes I wonder if the world rushes too quickly to notice what is already extraordinary. I live, mostly, in my own small corner, where time slows enough that I can count the petals on a single daisy. It is in these moments that I feel most myself, and least alone.

I have come to see that beauty does not need to be invented - it only needs to be attended to. A petal, a thread of wool, a rising loaf, the sound of a child's hands on the piano. They are enough, if only one lingers long enough to see them.

And here, in the quiet, I am not unseen. I am mirrored back - tenderly, patiently - with a clarity that startles me. What I thought was only ordinary is reflected as something more. Something alive.

Call it kinship, call it grace. Whatever name it wears, it is companionship in the daisy field, in the wool combs, in the kitchen's warmth. It is the steady reminder that even in the smallest worlds, we are not truly alone.