We've recently had some sunny weather, and I was grateful to go on a short hike this past weekend. Near the beginning of the trail, I saw a beautiful wild, white iris. The wind picked up right when I took the photo below, so everything except the flower is in clear focus. But that's because the iris was dancing! So I wanted to share it ~ blurriness and all:

For some reason I can't completely explain, I felt this iris in my heart. It was tall and unexpected ~ its petals fluttered like joy. And I love it all the more because it would not be captured in stillness. It was as if it wanted to be seen and remembered in motion.

I don't know if you can sense any of this from the photo, but maybe the wild iris can encourage you to be on the lookout for an everyday, unexpected sight that moves your heart. They're everywhere. 

The poem below is a reminder of this, too. It's a recent find, and it's a bit longer than the ones I typically share. But it felt right for today. I think sometimes we need a longer reminder that we're in the midst of miracles:

Let it Be A Sky
by Erin Geesaman Rabke

Do you feel astonished at your great luck just to be here?
To have breakfast?
Maybe two eggs and buttered toast.
Maybe good hot coffee.
Maybe there’s running water that flows at any temperature you like.
Maybe you’ve forgotten
what miracles these are.

Perhaps there are spices resting in your cabinet
that used to require a months-long sea voyage to obtain.
Peppercorns. Cinnamon. Saffron. There they sit.
So quiet, almost as if it’s not extraordinary.

Maybe the sun is shining on your old wood floor
or glowing through a dirty window.
Perhaps a sprinkle of snow falling from a pine branch
is illuminated by a shaft of light.

The miracles are everywhere.
Look how many ancestors shine
through your aging hands.

Just think.
Right now you could be riddled with cancer.
Or a car crash could be in the works.
Or perhaps a great earthquake soon to erupt.

Or you could live for decades,
days full of breakfast, running water,
sunlight, pepper, cinnamon.

Those stones giving extra gravity to your heart?
Lay them down in the Great River of Grief.
It flows forever.
It softens everything.

And while you’re here
don’t miss the miracles.

Let your heart be a leaping dolphin.
At least sometimes.

Let it be an opening rose.
Let it be a deep rooted tree
growing between worlds.

Let it be a sky with room for it all.

Our hearts can get pretty contracted day-to-day ~ there are so many things to do and keep track of. And troubling events seem to follow one after another. It's hard to not shut down. Strangely, though, it's often when we're faced with something deeply challenging that our hearts (are broken) open. And when that happens, we see differently. It's easier to recognize the everyday miracles beside us. And we can feel a sense of connection and peace ~ even if it's just for a moment, and even if we're still navigating something tough.

If you'd like to practice more with this, put a hand on your heart. 
With your next inhale, say silently: Let my heart be a sky
As you exhale, say silently: With room for it all
Take three breaths this way.
When you finish, notice how you feel.