Author: Stacey Hayes

Butterflies, Contemplative Practices, Migrations, Wonder

The Practice of Wonder

Stacey Hayes

Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.” ~ E.B. White

I am an ordinary wonder seeker. I look for wonder out the window, in the yard, and on walks. Glancing out our front door last week, I spotted an unlikely visitor—a journeying monarch butterfly. This pilgrim found the butterfly weed we planted a few years ago – its buds ripening but not yet in bloom.

The monarch landed on each milkweed plant for a few seconds, drawn to them like bees to nectar. (Monarchs lay their eggs on milkweed.) It rode the breeze encircling the front yard, then  vanished in a matter of minutes. A fleeting moment that easily could have been missed. An unexpected wonder on an ordinary day.

I got curious…Where did this butterfly’s journey originate? Where was it headed? And how in the world did it find this small patch of butterfly weed in our yard?

Later that afternoon, I went outside to look for eggs on the plant. Expecting (and hoping) to find eggs, I encountered another wonder – a small monarch caterpillar feasting on the leaves. Stooping down to watch something so small made the moment all the more wondrous. In its diminutiveness, I found expansiveness.

Wonder begets wonder. How long has the caterpillar been there? When were those eggs laid?

The monarch’s multigenerational migration is no small wonder. From Mexico to Canada in the spring, then back to Mexico to their wintering grounds, it can take up to four generations to make a one-way journey.

Like this passing monarch, many wonders are ephemeral. Wonder is sometimes about being in the right place at the right time. But if we practice a posture of expectancy, wonder is always under our noses, all around us. It can be the lens through which we see. A lens of openness, curiosity, and receptivity.

Wonder is a nod to the sacred in the every day. The budding perennial, the trill of the Towhee’s spring song, the veins in a heart-shaped leaf, the gradients of color in a small stone. The shapeshifting cloud above us. In a posture of wonder, we figuratively kneel offering our fullness to the fullness of what we are attending to.

Wonder is a  point of connection – a meeting place of our inner and outer landscapes. In stepping outside and outside of ourselves, we often can be found.

Wonder is both a noun (as in a cause of astonishment, a marvel, a miracle) and a verb (as in to be curious about). In This is How a Robin Drinks, Joanna Brichetto reminds us that “Both kinds of wonder lead to connect, which leads to love, which leads to protect.”

The butterfly weed will soon be wearing bright orange hats. We are drawn to flowers for their beauty, but the greatest wonder of this flora is that of host. Its offering of sustenance. Its offering of a birthplace. Its offering of a temporary home. It is a micro ecosystem made for a pilgrimage—full of wonder. 

Invitation: Giving Voice to Wonder

This stanza from Mary Oliver’s poem Sometimes is often quoted:

“Instructions for living a life:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.”

Reflect on each line from Oliver’s “instructions” and journal about what each means for you.

~ Pay attention: In what ways are you particularly gifted to pay attention? Do you easily pick up on smells? Are you a keen observer of fine details? Do you often notice connections among things? Are you drawn to expansive landscapes such as the sky?

~ Be astonished: What often astonishes you or captures your attention? What calls you into a holy pause? How can you foster moments of wonder?

~ Tell about it: Be open to some of the special ways you can share about the wonder you encounter. Perhaps through photos, a painting, writing, or poetry? Maybe sharing in meaningful conversations or storytelling? Or through education?

If You’re Wondering…

About monarchs and their migration

About Mary Oliver

About author E.B. White: Some Writer!  by Melissa Sweet is a wonder-filled, illustrated biography for children and adults.

Seasonal Rhythms

Scattering Seeds

Stacey Hayes

On Hope & Possibility

This past week the pine pollen dusted the neighborhood. It was a yellow backdrop to little helicopters raining everywhere. These green and pink winged wonders whirled and swirled off the maple tree in the front yard. Officially called samaras, they are designed to sow. To move with the wind. To scatter seeds of hope and possibility. 

By nature I am usually contemplative and introspective, but spring brings out an active and outward energy in me. Spring calls me to my outer landscape to watch the greening of the woods, the emergence of bees, the shifting energy of birds into a drive to nest, and the awakening of flowers and trees. I am not typically much of a gardener, but this season calls forth a strong motivation to plant more native plants in our yard (for said bees and birds). To join in with the rhythms around me.

As nature seeds out, the earth urges us to plant literal seeds in our gardens and figurative seeds of hope in the days to come — trusting the mystery and unexpected delight that will emerge in future seasons.

Today is a day of scattering potential and possibility. After all, spring reminds us that planting, hoping, and dreaming are all part of the natural cycle. 

Moved to Stillness

Let the wind gather you—

your scattered thoughts and worries.

Swiftly, gently blowing across your skin.

Quenching it as winged maple seeds

rain on your body. A moment

in motion, yet, still within—

a pause. A call to be right here,

right now. Even as you feel the internal

pull of dirty dishes and piling laundry.

This moment carried by the wind

grounds you in sacred stillness,

while scattering seeds

of possibility at your feet.

~ Stacey Hayes

invitations

~ Notice: Pay close attention to your landscape and notice nature’s seeds that are being sowed this season. Let them remind you of possibility.

~ Note: Make notes of “seeds” in a journal — these could be glimmers that capture your attention, a list of nature’s wonders, creative ideas, or moments of inspiration.

~ Plant: Plant a garden, a flowerbed, or a pot on your front porch.

Maple seeds embody hope and potential.
Seasonal Wisdom

A Poetic Season

Stacey Hayes

Poetry as meditation, inspiration, and devotion…

As winter releases and spring unfolds, we enter an undeniably poetic season. Small wonders are emerging, and the landscape will dramatically shift over the coming weeks. The compact form of a poem can capture seasonal transitions, tiny wonders, sweeping landscapes, and everything in-between. They help us to pause. To remember. To honor.

I admit poetry hasn’t always been the type of writing I most turn to. But lately, the poetic form has opened up streams of compassion and expression within me. I find myself reaching for a little book of poems — an anthology filled with wonder — to pause and savor. I read poetry as both solace and inspiration. Not surprisingly, reading poetry has been proven to calm the nervous system and promote an overall sense of well-being. I’ve come to embrace poetry as a contemplative practice, and in this transitional season, I offer this poem.

On the Precipice of Spring

The brown thrasher plucks

a twig from the dense thicket.

A gesture of intention.

Then a subtle song of hope—

a rite to mark the passing

of a season and the

unfolding of another.

My eyes lock in wonder.

Ancestral wisdom,

seasonal rhythms

hold us, shape us,

soften us 

as the wintered earth

softens into spring.

~ Stacey Hayes

I wrote this after watching two thrashers gather nest materials from the holly bush beside our front porch. Thrashers are notably shy, and I was able to witness this moment quietly from a window. I recently learned that they can sing over 1,000 songs, and like the mockingbird, they imitate other bird songs.

Poetic Invitations

~ Allow yourself to pause by savoring a poem. Let the words wash over you, soothe you, awaken you, inspire you.

~ Consider writing a poem to honor the passing season of winter — to honor its gifts and graces. 

~ Find a poem that resonates with you and invite it to spark your writing. For example, you may want to choose a line from it to use as the first line of your poem. 

Poets who Inspire

Deeply connected to the natural world, these two poets write with compassion and speak to me in this season of my life:

~ Mary Oliver, especially her anthology Devotions

~ James Crews, especially The Wonder of Small Things edited by Crews

The trout lilies have emerged—sprinkled like confetti on the forest floor behind our home. These spring ephemerals are poetic wonders that symbolize hope and resilience for me. Read more about them here.
Seasonal Wisdom

Little Hopes Everywhere

Stacey Hayes

The start of February has been filled with unpredictable rhythms. This time of year weather can be variable, and lately it’s been two days of winter followed by two days of spring. While I embrace the warmer days, I’ve found them to be a bit disorienting. I’m reminded that weather can influence our moods and serve as a metaphor for many things—our shifting inner landscapes, the unpredictability of our daily lives, and the changes in the world around us.

Some ancient wisdom suggests widening your lens during times of uncertainty. To broaden your perspective. And in some seasons, I find this helpful. But in this particular month, reassurance is found through my narrow lens. By zooming in on the particulars.

By taking in the little hopes all around me.

What is true and beautiful and hopeful right here? In this place? In this moment?

Today it was the ripening buds on the sprawling elm tree, hovering over the front yard in a hug. And the young daffodil shoots pushing through the ground in the woods behind our house. Just like last February. The green anole that emerged to sun on this unseasonably warm day—a sign of things to come. And the gathering of brown birds—the Carolina Wren, the white-throated sparrow, and the Hermit thrush—foraging harmoniously in the side yard.

When the wider landscape feels overwhelming, I tether myself to the particulars. By shifting our attention, we find little hopes everywhere.

“…beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.” ~ Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

a contemplative practice

Allow yourself a few moments to focus on the natural world—in your yard, out your window, on a walk in your neighborhood. Slow down enough to notice some of the particulars around you. You may want to photograph these or jot down what you noticed. When you document the particulars in images or words, they can be revisited over time and through the seasons — marking the moments and memories that bring us hope, gratitude, and joy.

How may nature’s particulars offer you hope?

In what ways do they ground you?

If you are deep in snow, ice, or other wintry weather, you may want to read last month’s post on Weathering Winter.

A month ago, these elm tree buds were covered in ice. Now they are ripening and bursting—showing hints of the flowers to come. Elm trees form flowers before they get their leaves.
Compassion, Seasonal Wisdom, Water

Weathering Winter

Stacey Hayes

On Bareness, Beauty & Resilience

I live in North Carolina where winters are chilly but rarely white. They are gentler than in more northerly parts of the world. Yet still, I find myself turning inward, seeking cozy, and nourishing my body with healthful and fat-filled foods— like the Eastern cottontail rabbits who shelter in dense thickets around our shed. Like the squirrels who curl their tails on their backs like blankets. And like the songbirds who feast in the backyard.

During an unusual cold snap this past week, I worried about the birds as night temperatures dipped into the 20s. To my relief, the next morning they sang their subtle winter songs and visited our feeders as usual. Still here.

Their resilience offered reassurance, and I was reminded of my own capacity to endure. Birds have adapted to survive the cold—storing more fat, fluffing out their downy feathers, sometimes huddling together in roost houses, and shivering to create warmth. Their tiny bodies are adept at thermal regulation.

Winter exposes our vulnerabilities.

Winter reveals beauty and resilience.

The cold bareness  of winter seems to expose our vulnerabilities—my increasingly creaky joints. My too-cold toes. My dry, oft cracked skin. My need for deep rest. And my occasional resistance to sitting with silence and stillness.

The bareness of winter also reveals beauty. The simple forms of the natural world, the silhouettes of  trees. The peace inherent in the stillness. The beauty in our need for warmth, community, and communion with animals.

How may we endure a season of deep winter?

By embracing its cold beauty, call to rest, and invitation to gather warmth wherever it may be found. We can lean into our own adaptations taking cues from the wildlife around us, don our coziest socks, and allow the clarity of wintry air to fill our bodies and spirits. And as Anna Brones encourages us, we can “stare up and remind ourselves that in between the dark silhouettes of bare winter branches, there is so much light that shines through.”


For  Reflection
~ What does “weathering winter” mean for you?

~ What beauty is revealed in the bareness of the season—the silhouettes of deciduous trees, the sparse landscapes?

~ How can you embrace your vulnerabilities with compassion, while gathering support and comfort for them? 

A Wellness Practice

Go outside for a walk in the natural world (or look out your window). Be open to wonder and see what captures your attention. You may want to take a photo or write a few words of gratitude for the beauty you encounter. Embrace the alchemy of movement, wintry fresh air, and the bare trees of this quiet season.

A Quote to Inspire Your Creative or Writing Practice

“All winter long the brown bud will sleep. While the cold crow calls into the gray sky, while the wet leaves blacken and begin their return to earth, the brown bud is waiting for its true self to unfold; a beginning that in sleep has already begun.”

~ Margaret Renkl, The Comfort of Crows

Contemplative Practices

Simple Gifts

Stacey Hayes

If you’ve been following my work for awhile, you’ve likely noticed that “small wonders” is a theme I return to again and again. The simple gifts of the natural world never cease to delight. I hope to focus on these life giving gifts during this traditionally busy month. To slow down and reflect amidst a time of preparation—both for the advent of winter and Christmas. Alongside my “to do” lists, the practice of embracing nature’s simple gifts guides and grounds me. And fosters a sense of wonder.

As the trees are nearly bare, it may seem challenging to find small wonders in nature. But with a little attention and close observation in our backyards and local surroundings, they can be discovered. The colder, darker season offers many gifts—ripe holly berries, fragrant evergreens, a patch of soft moss, sparkling Jack Frost, and wintering birds.

Pictured above are the blue “berries” of the Eastern Red Cedar, a native juniper tree. The festive berries are actually small cones—tiny packages with nutritious seeds inside. As an important winter food source, they fill the bellies of beloved birds and remind us that each season provides sustenance for body and spirit.

May nature’s simple gifts nourish you in the days to come.

Contemplative Practices, Ecotherapy, Seasonal Rhythms

Autumn’s Song

Stacey Hayes

A Season of Savoring

I’ve been hearing the distinct and familiar whistle from the woods telling me it’s November. The notes of the white-throated sparrow saying, “I am here.” And I’m grateful this migrant bird has returned safely to its wintering home.

Piercing through the drone of leaf blowers, the haunting tune mirrors fall’s spirit of letting go. The leaves drop, dancing as though choreographed to the sparrow’s song.

The song invites me to pause. To savor.

Meanwhile, societal cues attempt to fast forward me to the next holiday, bypassing this month of understated beauty. November can easily be overlooked. But I can choose to take cues from nature’s rhythms—the arrival of migrating birds (and their songs). The half-bare, half-leaved elm outside my window. Wispy, white seeds traveling with the autumn wind. The muted light of dusk, which falls earlier each day.

In this month of things dying back, there is a nourishing feast for the senses waiting to be savored. Savoring can be thought of as deep appreciation. The Old French savorer “to taste, to breathe in; to appreciate, care for” (etymology.com) sums up this contemplative practice. The natural world is the perfect place to do this. 

As we slow down, we notice, we sense, we feel, and we become more appreciative. We honor the details in our visual landscapes. And the songs of our aural landscapes. Savoring points us to the sacred in the ordinary, and we begin to walk in beauty.

In this shifting landscape—transforming before me, moment to moment—the soulful notes of the sparrow rise up above the chaos. This little bird enchants. It sings: “I am home. We are here together.” And I savor each refrain.

Seasonal Invitations
~ What autumn song do you hear? You may want to go outside for a few minutes and make a list of all nature’s sounds that you notice. Or perhaps make a sound map.

~ What in natural world this time of year can remind you to take a micro pause—to savor the small wonders around you? 

~ Embracing micro seasons is another way to savor natural rhythms. Read more here.

Compassion, Seasonal Wisdom

Micro Acts of Compassion

Stacey Hayes

Every autumn in the woods behind our house, the hickory nuts gather in abundance. And year after year, the hearts hidden inside these nuts—the inner sanctums—continue to capture my sense of wonder. These tiny, natural treasures delight me. But this season, they take on new meaning. 

In a time when we can feel overwhelmed by all that’s going on in the world, these small wonders are a comforting reminder that there is compassion all around us and within us. In a season when so many are suffering, these gifts on the forest floor speak to me of micro acts of compassion.

The hickory tree made its offering of sustenance to the creatures below—squirrels, deer, raccoons, o’possums. What’s left behind in the nuts, the inner hearts, feels like an offering to me both in their beauty and symbolism. And as the hulls decompose, they nourish the soil and the tree. The cycle of compassion is completed and continues, guided by seasonal rhythms.

The hearts of these nuts remind me that my small offerings matter. The fresh water in the birdbath. The homemade nectar in the feeder for the migrating hummingbirds. The breath prayer as I turn off unnecessary lights at night—with hopes of helping migrant birds find their way home. The food and cleaning supplies we gathered to help western North Carolina in the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Helene.

Compassion embodies acts of service and spirit as we tenderly enter into another’s need or suffering.  And there is expansiveness in our small offerings. Micro compassion is a remedy for overwhelm as we do our best to lighten the collective burden.

When your heart feels heavy, when your soul feels led, consider: What micro act of compassion can I extend to another being? What small offering can I make?

A prayer? A poem? A calm presence? Practical assistance? 

It’s okay to choose small. It’s okay for your offering to be imperfect. Together our individual acts of micro compassion gather in abundance, like the hickory hearts on the forest floor.

Migrations, Nature’s Wisdom, Seasonal Rhythms

A Season of Transitions

Stacey Hayes

On Molting & Renewal

The past few weeks, I’ve noticed the process of molting in the bird world. The Cardinal shedding his head feathers. The Carolina Wren hopping around without a tail feather. And all sorts of fledglings born earlier this summer growing in their adult feathers.

Stubby. Shaggy. Raggedy.

These are not the first words that usually come to mind when thinking about songbirds. They look awkward and not quite like themselves, yet, they are exactly what they need to be in this season. They are perfectly imperfect.

Molting is a process they can’t control. It’s governed by circadian rhythms, the changing light, and the turning of seasons. Molting is a season of vulnerability for birds. Feathers are used not only for flight but for camouflage, insulation, sun protection, swimming, and making sounds. Birds take care as best they can during this time—conserving their energy to grow new feathers, eating more protein, and seeking shelter. Though arduous, molting is a regenerative natural rhythm that prepares birds for what’s to come—be it migration or colder weather.

Molt stems from the Old English mutian meaning to change.

I often think of September as an in-between season. A time of change and transition. Routines and rhythms begin to shift. Our minds, hearts, and bodies begin to adapt to seasonal changes. As my own feathers feel a bit weathered and worn, I’m reminded that letting go of what no longer resonates with my values or priorities makes space for new growth and opportunities. Midlife (or whatever life season you may be in) is an opportune time to embrace the wisdom embodied in cycles of release and renewal — as autumn will soon remind us in a myriad of ways.

In the meantime, we can take our cues from birds and nourish ourselves in body and spirit during times of transition. Making space to rest and restore, releasing what no longer serves us. Because molting, like most seasonal rhythms, can guide us and point us toward hope.

“I watch the bald Cardinals feeding their fledglings, and I know they feel awful. I remind myself of what I cannot remind them–that raggedness is just the first step toward a new season of flight.”

~ Margaret Renkl, The Comfort of Crows

for reflection

You may want to use these questions as writing prompts for journaling or perhaps just to ponder while watching birds.

~ How may I meet my own “molting” process with compassion, gentleness, and patience?

~ What wisdom may I discover in cycles of release and renewal?

ways to support molting and migrating birds

~ Offer protein-rich foods such as seeds and suet.

~ Hang roost houses as the nights become cooler.

~ Turn off unnecessary lights, especially between 10pm-6am as these can disorient birds migrating at night.

All Seasons, Contemplative Practices, Ecospirituality, Nature’s Wisdom, Seasonal Rhythms, Seasonal Wisdom

Soulful Micro Seasons

Stacey Hayes

A dear friend recently shared how late summer can feel stagnant and uninspiring. This is a person who thrives in new scenery and vast landscapes. I reminded him that a possible antidote is to connect with the wonder and subtle changes happening right under our noses—in our own habitats.

It’s human nature to become desensitized to the things we see every day and to forget to appreciate the life teeming in our backyards. The framework of micro seasons can help us rediscover the small wonders and micro changes unfolding before us. The tiniest mushroom that wasn’t there yesterday. The sunflower that has finally opened after a season of growth. The figs that have ripened after an abundance of rain and that are being enjoyed by a host of critters. The poke berry that’s turned from green to burgundy. 

Micro seasons are an alternative way of measuring time. Of deepening our seasonal wisdom. Micro seasons celebrate life cycles and the transient nature of things. They also offer comfort and reassurance in seasonal patterns and predictable rhythms. They are an opportunity to honor the sacred in the familiar.

The ancient Japanese calendar had 72 micro seasons lasting approximately five days each. Here they are for August: 

August 3-7: Great rains sometimes fall

August 8-12: Cool winds blow

August 13-17: Evening cicadas sing

August 18-22: Thick fog descends

August 23-27: Cotton flowers open

But of course our own micro seasons will be unique depending on our habitats and what captures our attention. This practice can be a form of observation, reflection, and devotion. As I look back on the micro seasons I’ve experienced in past weeks — the spring trout lilies, the periodical cicadas, the June fireflies, the wildflowers of July — my sense of gratitude swells. These moments are also touchstones to what was going on in my life at that time. Micro seasons are mileposts on the inward and outward journey as we mark the passage of time in relationship to the natural world.

an invitation

You may want to embrace the practice of micro seasons as a form of self-care that offers solace, wisdom, and wonder.

How do you identify a micro season?

You begin by noticing. By being curious.

By observing your local habitat — on walks, while looking out your window, or spending time in your yard or neighborhood.

As you slow down, notice what shimmers and shines for you.

What captures your attention, senses, and imagination?

What is a key moment or pattern being revealed in the natural world this week? 

What is delighting you?

What do you want to learn more about?

These are the questions that guide your discovery of a micro season. Then, once you’ve identified one, you may want to document it in a way that is meaningful for you—a short description, a series of photos, a drawing, a journal entry, or a conversation.

a blessing

May the micro seasons you experience help you to behold the gifts offered each day. May cultivating this practice foster deep seeing, deep feeling, and deep expression as we honor the unfolding seasons—day after day, week after week.