Years ago I was “made to understand” that I would walk The Path of Flowers and I believe I have.
I now live in a place where something is always flowering. 
Through any pain I experience there is also the beauty of blooms to cheer me. 
Flowers are sent to those who are ill or suffering. 
They are used for celebrations 
or to honor those who have passed away. 
The Lenten rose is named after a time in the Christian liturgical calendar that precedes Easter. 
Many people are even named after flowers, my nieces and sister included. 
Quaker George Fox famously said to walk cheerfully over the earth, answering that of God in everyone. 
Flowers seem to “walk” everywhere, bringing joy to any who encounter them. Dare we do the same?
Photos © Sondra Sula.
Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.
Tranquility can be hard to come by when I’m stressed. 
When I feel my spiritual connection weakening, I find it helpful to reinstate lapsed devotional practices.
Perhaps it’s time to reconnect…
Footsteps Of Spring flowers are low-to-the-ground blooms that often create a patchy trail. Their yellow path prompts me to imagine Jesus leaving footprints of light where he walks.
The Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens are closed. So I’m forced to take a botanical sabbatical.
I must say a temporary toodle-oo to the succulent garden
with its towering flowers
that start as the tiniest buds.
Farewell to the fabulous collection of rhododendrons
that brighten my outlook.
Goodbye to the grevillea with its cascade of beautiful blooms
that begin as tight curls.
So long to the marvelous magnolias.
‘Til we meet again.
Due to the COVID-19 virus, I am advised to “shelter in place,” only leaving our home for necessities, like toilet paper, which has been absent from market shelves for weeks now.
The magnolia is stuck in the same position as I am. It can’t go anywhere.
This particular magnolia lives tucked into a tiny corner—it can only branch out in one direction.
But it can bloom. Right where it is. Cramped in its tiny space.
A look into its center shows its surprising complexity—perhaps it’s time to delve inside my center. To discover what constitutes the seed of who I am.
To realize I am blooming today. Right now.
This way, come what may, I have no regrets.
Come sit with me. This bench was made for two.
Take in the delicate curves of the fava bean bloom; its exquisite veining. A masterpiece in black and white.
Join me in the magnolia grove where hairy, colorless buds burst into brilliant bloom.
Small pink waterfalls cascade down to lush emerald foliage. Drink in the sight.
A picoted bud is just beginning its cycle, while right next door a fern leaf is ending its cycle. Beauty before me, beauty behind me… comes to mind from an old Navajo prayer.
One calla lily boasts perfection, the other, while torn and ragged, possesses a beauty all its own. Beauty all around me—around us.
Our journey is about to end. But not the way it has for this sea urchin. Like the neighboring mushroom whose spores continue its journey, ours begins anew each time we open our eyes to wonder.
Whether I ponder with eyes aloft or downcast, my field of vision is inundated with flowers.
From the slender, graceful jonquil…
to the stand-tall red hot poker, my world is awash with color. We are all brilliant.
Even the toned-down flora draws me into its embrace. A pine cone titillates my senses with its preposterous texture and teetering, topsy-turvy “tentacles.” White magnolias with excessive, fluttering petals create an air of sumptuousness. We are all multifaceted.
Around the corner the same tree—a white magnolia—showcases stark minimalism with its leafless branches and smooth gray trunk. Stripped down to our core, we are all still beautiful and loved magnificently.
I thrill to the frills of a ruffled iris and to the undulating edges of azalea blooms. Our Creator is delighted by the complex curlicues that make us US. 
Spring lets us in on her secrets. They are the same the world over. Rebirth. Renewal. Hope. But what do the individual flowers say?
The waxy lanterns of the andromeda shrub remind me that my light shines from within. A white magnolia offers the same wisdom as it virtually glows against the darkness.
A rhododendron bloom blurts out joy like a noisemaker at a child’s birthday party. A wine-edged hellebore bows in reverence as it blooms. I can follow their lead and do both.
Twin euphorbia bracts reveal their artistry as I delve inside their protective outer layer. Showing my vulnerability doesn’t illicit disdain as I once imagined, but actually increases my preciousness in the eyes of others.
This purple flower appears to be inside-out. When I wear my heart on my sleeve, everyone can see my truth at a glance.
Cheery yellow posies invite me to look on the sunny side of life.
When I want to truly commune with The Divine, I don’t just remain on the surface, but dig deeply into the center of mystery as these tantalizing blooms illustrate.
Symmetry is overrated. As you can see from this whiskered viola, the subtle imperfections create a wabi-sabi beauty. And the fissures in a developing pine cone may mar its perfection, but allow it to eventually break out of its gummy constraints and grow.
Finally, a sweet pea and fuchsia open themselves to the world without holding back. Will I dare do the same?
I’m still tickled by the thought of spring in February. What used to be the most desolate time of the year for me is now the most promising. A change of location has caused a change in mindset. About what else can I change my mind? 
Flora litter doesn’t seem like litter at all—not only is it decorative, but it nourishes the soil for future growth. Is there fertile litter in my life that I need to let lie fallow for a time?
Blooms can look prettier together—they make more impact. Although I love my solitude, spending time with another can be doubly beneficial.
Backlit blossoms and leaves draw me closer with their wonder-filled glow. When I let The Light shine through me rather than on me, ego steps aside and allows for deeper, more fulfilling interactions.
I’m often amazed how hard a tree will work to reach toward the heavens. I believe in grace, but I also believe that effort often produces wild spurts of spiritual growth.
The filaments of a camellia stand tall, holding their pollen-heavy anthers up to attract bees and other pollinators. When I offer up spiritual food for passersby to partake of, I can contribute to nourishing souls.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 