Birmingham, Alabama
A good day, planting seeds. Arriving home yesterday, I stepped out of my car in the parking lot and looked toward the late afternoon skyline. From this vantage point on one of Birmingham’s few mountains, the view is clear all the way to downtown and the horizon. The sky stretched wide in a breathtaking blue, billowy clouds drifting with effortless lightness. Just outside my window, the oak tree still stands bare, waiting patiently for spring. Below it, the three-story apartment building—the one I glance at in the quiet hours of morning and evening—was getting a new roof. A renewal in progress.
Earlier in the day, I planted flower seeds with the residents, tucking small promises into the soil, trusting the unseen work of growth. A roof being rebuilt, seeds being sown—both reminders that change happens quietly before it blooms.
I’m reminded of zen master Thích Nhất Hạnh’s words: "Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor." By becoming the observer of my emotions, I root myself in beautiful stillness—an unmovable force amid life’s ever-changing landscape.
