It Just takes One

Early spring forest floor

In a sea of gray-brown dullness, it feels that no life is apparent this early spring in the earth covered with last year's leaves. I was following a deer path along a hillside above backwater that had flooded the usual path, watching below for birds in the cold water and in front of me for hazards, clambering over fallen timber, ducking beneath low branches. I was paying more attention to the water and the path than I was to the hillside slightly to the left and above me.

It's the season of in-between. Winter has lost its grip, but spring seems slow in coming. Even the temperature feels colder in the dampness near the water. The forest is not ready to disrupt the monotony of last year's leaves on the ground.

And yet, just a brief glance up the slope revealed a sign of spring:

Hepatica

I was struck by how it just takes one - in this case, a small wildflower - to change the landscape, just one brave plant pushing up, just one sharing its beauty. Tender and new, it took my breath away.

I sunk to my knees on the leaves in front of it, the cold and damp earth reaching up to me from below. The flowers are so delicate, but here, alone among the oak leaves that are no longer crisp and closer to becoming earth again, was this one plant. Not more than a few inches tall, it stood and shared a bit of color. The tiny plant leads the way, hopeful for more to appear. So small, yet it brightens the woods as it pushes up through the leaf-littered forest floor.

It just takes one to start the growth and reminds me of how one blossoming of anything is how everything begins.

I say that there is always something new to explore in nature. Now, I would add, I feel strongly that I am part of nature, too, and I have so much more to learn. We all do.

Being part of nature means being myself deeper, finding stillness, staying present, rising up when it feels natural. And a knowing that even one soul can make a difference. Maybe it's better said that there is always something new to learn in Nature.

This small wildflower shows the way.

Water is Still Water...

Water Droplets on a Leaf Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

I've found water to be a subject in my photos in all seasons of the year. Summer - after the rain, or spring, when snow is melting and water flows swiftly over and around the roots of a tree in its path.

Spring Flood Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

In winter and when the conditions are right, water can form beautiful crystals on last fall's plant stalk.

Prairie plant, Crystalized. Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

Shapes can form near the shore in gently moving water - even snow globes.

Winter Snow Globes Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

What is amazing to me is that in all of these conditions, water is still water, just in a different form. I have read about how people simply could look to water as the model and emulate its steadiness and ability to flow through and around obstacles. I thought I understood, but it showed up again in a book I've been reading and struck a deeper place in me. I've met just a handful of people who are the same, steady people, no matter what the circumstance. They are constant in their actions and in how they see life and seem to weather what life puts in their path. Like water!

I realize it takes practice to be that steady, and it takes discipline to practice daily, being awake and allowing things to flow. At a deeper level now, I continue to practice being the same steady (consistent?) person, no matter what shows up in my path.

Full Stop

Goldfinch to the Feeder Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

I've been experimenting with taking photos in continuous shooting mode. I'm becoming aware that it can be a good thing to use that feature, and hazardous at the same time. It's a bit of a shock how MANY photos I can capture with one press of the button. Then to cull out the ones that just aren't clear. Wading through 100 photos of birds approaching a bird feeder for example, can be tedious... more to learn on that front. However, capturing the action of a bird in flight in a still photo, full stop and in focus is so rewarding!

I sensed there was something here for me to see about stopping. Becoming still is something that I've been practicing. To get to stillness of course, I first have to stop moving so fast in my life, including thinking, and talking, going on autopilot, not being present; you get the idea. It's comfortable, those old habits, often doesn't result in me making forward progress.

Bluebird at birdbath Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

However, taking a photo that captures the grace of a bird in flight is quite rewarding. I was able to do so because I stood still, waited and acted with full awareness of what I was doing. That takes me in a different direction entirely.

I guess the lesson is that there is beauty (and personal reward) in stopping and slowing down with anything!

The outstretched wings of a bird, frozen in a photo remind me that stillness allows me to see things better, and life seems to slow down a bit. I see in these photos the beauty and grace and symmetry of their feathers, how each is just the right length and held in the perfect way to be able to swoop in and land on a small target at a bird feeder or birdbath.

When I don't practice stillness, it's like looking at a blurry camera shot - the shadow of a bird. I'm not clear. Life then seems to go by in a blur. I miss things I might have seen by stopping, taking a breath, and relaxing into stillness so I can see. With stillness, I have the chance to see each feather in my life in intricate detail.