There is a voice.
Many of us carry.
That whispers.
Not yet.
Not enough.
A little more healing.
A little more success.
A little more certainty.
Perhaps.
You will finally be allowed to rest.
But the daisy does not compare itself to the flowers around it.
It does not wonder whether it belongs in the field.
Simply opens to the sun,
To the rain,
To the season it has been given.
The wisdom of simply being here.
Beneath the sun.
Beneath the rain.
Exactly as they are.
You.
Perhaps there is something in that for us too.
How much of life have we spent postponing,
Waiting to become someone else,
Waiting to be better,
Stronger,
More healed,
More certain?
What if this moment matters too?
What of this version of you?
The one caring questions.
The one still learning.
The one who has not figured everything out.
Belongs here just as much as anyone else.
The flowers do not ask whether they have earned their place in the field.
They seem to be gone.
Perhaps today.
You can stop waiting.
Perhaps today You can meet yourself exactly as you are.
You