No Beginning

A stairway took me to the middle of the Gualala Bluffs Trail.
I turned to the right and saw a host of flowers blooming along the path.
Some were planted
and cared for with loving hands.
Others were wild
and ran with rampant joy.
Flowers will be flowers, and I love them all.
Soon I came to the end of the trail. There was a finality to the sign because it resembled a grave marker.
As there was nowhere else to go, I turned on my heels to head back.
Ice plant blooms lifted their faces to the sun.
Rock roses swelled against the backdrop of an intense blue sky and lone palm.
Succulents burst like green stars above the river’s channel, leading into the great Pacific Ocean.
A carpet of gazanias seemed to cheer me on like sideline supporters during a race.
I passed the stairway where I first entered, but quickly arrived at the other end of the trail. It struck me that this trail had no beginning.
As humans, we don’t remember our beginning. We become sentient one day and we’re already on the trail. The only thing expected of us is to journey to the end, wherever that end may be; wherever the trail leads us.

Photos © Sondra Sula.

Take a walk with me by reading my most recent 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.

Cultivating Amazement

“Lilium Michiganense Surprise” by Sondra Sula

Today as I left the open meadows and entered into the darkened forest I was surrounded and attacked by hoards of voracious mosquitoes. The recent wet weeks have created what I believe to be a larger, more aggressive form of these puncture-savvy parasites. But it was worth the shooing, flicking, and flailing to see a spread of wild lilium michiganense tucked behind a stand of waterlogged tree trunks.

“Floral Pumpkins” by Sondra Sula

Ten years ago I had tried to cultivate these lilies in my garden. I was taken by their recurved pumpkin petals, deep red spots, and splashes of curry yellow. The anthers hang down like a carousel of golden corndogs, and the stigma peeks out like a single eye. But no matter how much I babied the bulbs, I could not get these beauties to grow, save one weak bloom that never returned. I concluded that the environment was simply wrong and I couldn’t force them to naturalize in my garden.

Imagine my surprise three years ago when I saw a single beam of light penetrating through the forest canopy and shining on an orange lily. Could it be? How was this possible? As I tiptoed on tiny tufts of grass protruding from a swamp of standing water, I made it to the prize and gently flipped up the flower to reveal its telltale spots.

I had to chuckle. God must be teaching me a lesson: the cultivation of amazement. Had the lily bloomed in my garden it would not have been half as precious as it was now—rogue transplant secretly flowering in the forest.

Each year I have watched the lilies multiply and to date there are about fifteen plants. My wonder never ceases as I pass by their slender, nodding stems trembling with each burst of wind, their jiggling blooms brightening the brown and green landscape.

Today I saw many other awe-inspiring sights: a bee culling pollen from sweet clover, two gray feathers balanced on a tree stump, the pointy base of a soft-topped thistle. These are all fascinating because of the cultivation of amazement God has been teaching me day after day.

“Cultivating Amazement: Bee, Feathers, Thistle” by Sondra Sula