Watching in Stillness

A Sage’s Morning Reflection

Let me share a small story from a cool December morning at Sumter Oaks, a morning that reminded me, how nature teaches without ever speaking a word.

I woke early that day, before the world had fully stirred. You know that soft hour, when the light is only beginning to lift the edges of the sky, and everything feels possible? I made myself a simple cup of coffee, nothing fancy, just warmth between my palms and the quiet steam rising like a small prayer.

Before my walk, I stopped by the activity center to leave a surprise jigsaw puzzle. I didn’t attach a name or note. I like gifts that arrive without needing credit like falling leaves or a breeze at the right moment. Someone would find it, and maybe it would brighten a day I’d never see. That was enough.

When I began my morning walk, the air felt crisp, cool enough to wake up the senses but gentle enough to welcome me in. The sky was a patchwork blue brushed with wandering clouds. The kind of sky that reminds you that nothing in nature ever rushes to completion. Everything moves at its own pace.

As I walked, something shifted in the field to my left. At first, I thought it was the wind threading through the tall brown grass. But then I saw her; a young doe standing still, watching me.

Now, there’s a particular way deer look at you. They don’t stare with challenge or fear; they look as if they’re listening to something beneath the surface of things. She stood there, quiet, curious, unafraid. A moment later, she stepped softly toward a small orange-and-brown tree, where her companion, another doe rested nearly hidden in the grass. Together, they fixed their eyes on me.

So, I stopped.
And I breathed.
And for a few heartbeats, we shared the same stillness.

I lifted my hand in a small wave, not expecting anything in return, but acknowledging them the way you might acknowledge two gentle spirits who happened to cross your path. And surprisingly, they stayed. They watched, calm, steady. It felt as though, for a moment, we were part of the same quiet world with no threat, no worry, just presence.

Have you ever felt that?
That moment when you’re so at ease that another creature recognizes it and trusts you?
Those are sacred moments. Moments you don’t chase they arrive because you’ve slowed enough to be found.

I walked a few steps further down the path, and I could feel their eyes follow me. When I paused again, they lifted their heads, meeting my gaze once more. There was something wordless exchanged there. A kind of understanding: you are safe, and so are we.

But as nature reminds us, peace is often fragile. A sudden sharp sound echoed across the pasture, I couldn’t see the source, but they heard it clearly. Their bodies tense. First a quick walk, then a sudden burst into a run.

Now, many would call that retreat. But what I saw was simply beauty in motion. The way they glided across the open field, light, swift, and effortless. Their bodies moved with grace our own feet rarely find. In a blink, they disappeared into the distance, leaving nothing but the trembling grass in their wake.

I stood there for a while, feeling the weight of the empty field. But the emptiness wasn’t a loss, it was fullness. A fullness that comes from seeing something pure, something given without expectation.

And in that quiet, a thought rose up inside me, as thoughts often do when we stop trying so hard to think:

Beauty does not arrive when we demand it.
It comes when we are open enough to receive it.

We live in a world that moves fast, faster than the rhythm of the earth. But mornings like that remind me why I walk slowly, why I pause to notice, why I let myself stand still when something beautiful crosses my path.

So, let me offer you this gentle reflection:
When was the last time you allowed yourself to truly watch?
Not to analyze, not to capture with a camera or a checklist; but to simply watch the world as it is?

When did you last slow down so completely that a wild creature didn’t fear you, but simply acknowledged you as part of the landscape?

These moments aren’t rare. They’re simply missed.

The mission of Finding Nature’s Beauty is not about searching endlessly for the extraordinary. It is about rediscovering ordinary, the simple scenes, the fleeting encounters and recognizing that they hold the depth our hearts are hungry for.

So, as you move through your own day, leave a little space for wonder.
Look up. Look softly.
Let the world reveal itself at its own pace.

You never know a deer may be waiting in the tall grass, ready to meet your gaze, if only for a quiet, sacred moment.