“When we can grant respect to seemingly unimportant things, little things, particular things, when we find ourselves giving thanks for one little violet, when we can say, ‘I’ll bet no human eye will ever look at you except me, and I want to thank God for you, and I want to thank you for simply being you and for allowing me to delight in your purple color’ or whatever it might be.  Suddenly, our world rearranges because when we can grant respect to one thing, that respect universalizes to all things.  

On your walk, find one particular object, not the whole landscape, but one leaf, one twig, one lizard, and grant it respect.   Talk to it.  And then, even more daringly, in that state of respect, let it talk back.” — Richard Rohr

— Opening reflection chosen and read by Amy W.

I realized as I began to walk in these beautiful gardens, how inclined I am to take in the landscape here (there’s so much to see), rather than choosing one particular to focus on.  However, I accepted the invitation to choose differently, or be chosen.  

In Bethea’s garden, a lone zinnia stood as sentinel in front of the bok choy row.  It offered its height to the breeze, allowed itself to be moved while remaining rooted, its full magenta face undaunted, bright.  I stopped and watched, in a state of respect, admiring its flexibility, its strength, its urge to bloom this late in the season after all of its kind were gone.  I heard it say that this is what resilience can look like, or just plain joy–doing full-out what is yours to do, in whatever season, giving a bow of respect to those who came before.  I thanked it for its wisdom; it thanked me for noticing.

— Photos and reflection by Amy W.

Belinda’s Rose — Wonderfully scented with apple blossom. Submitted with respect.

— Photo and reflection by Jill W.

This fallen leaf caught my eye — wonderfully adorned with polka dots on its journey to reinvigorating the soil beneath it. I told her she was beautiful and unique as she entered her final life stages. Then she told me that I was beautiful as I, too, age. She said: “Be patient and kind with yourself and those around you as you journey through life’s natural cycle of aging.”

You are fancy and fun,

joyous and lacey!

You make me smile

widely and admire

your delicate, dancing beauty.

The leaves smiled at me

and responded:

“Dance with abandon and

laugh until your belly hurts.”

— Photos and reflections by Nancy L.