Storm on the Horizon
My friend from Biel/Bienne took me on a walk through the mountains, and the land gave me teachers I didn’t expect — in forests, pastures, and skies heavy with rain.
In forests, pastures, and skies heavy with rain.
Every step carried a metaphor. Every encounter carried a lesson.
Three Nuts on One Stem
Hazelnuts in three found in a forest in Jura, Switzerland.
Hazelnuts usually come in one or two. I found three, fused together. A mutation. A rare triplet, the forest’s version of a four-leaf clover.
It made me think: when our lives don’t follow the usual pattern — when they mutate into unexpected shapes — we often question them. But what if those mutations are our good luck? Our uniqueness? Our strength?
Not a mistake. A gift.
Fungi on Fallen Wood
On the forest floor, bright fungi bloomed on rotting trunks.
They remind me: endings aren’t endings. They become nutrients. They feed what’s next.
But fungi also absorb the world around them. A “chicken-taste” mushroom that grows on a toxic tree is no longer edible.
Growth isn’t neutral. What we take in shapes what we become. Environments matter — to fungi, and to us.
And even when the fruiting body is gone, the roots remain — a living network beneath the soil, ready to rise again.
So the question is: what are you absorbing? What’s feeding you? And is it nourishing — or toxic?
A Sprig of Thyme
Tiny, purple, almost invisible by the path. But its scent, when rubbed, filled my hand.
Small doesn’t mean weak. Small doesn’t mean trivial.
Sometimes the smallest rituals — a pause, a breath, a single step taken with awareness — shift everything.
Small is potent. Small is enough.
Roots Entwined
In one clearing, I saw trees growing so close their roots, trunks and branches intertwined — leaning on each other, sharing ground.
Symbiosis. Connection.
We don’t grow in isolation. We grow in relationship, in networks, in ecosystems that hold and shape us.
The trees reminded me: strength isn’t always standing alone. Sometimes it’s standing together.
When Horses Walk Towards You
Horses in Jura, Switzerland. One of them walked up to me so up close.
I was standing still when a herd of horses, grazing far off, lifted their heads and came close. One by one, steady, deliberate. Until they stood beside me.
With horses, presence is the only language. They sense your state and meet you as you are.
Presence invites presence. Trust is mutual. The herd reminds you: you don’t have to move alone.
Storm on the Horizon
Later, clouds thickened. A storm approached.
It was my friend who suggested we wait. “Let’s stay until it arrives,” she said.
So we sat on a wooden bench, looking over cows and calves resting peacefully — her landscape, close to her home in Biel/Bienne. A place already layered with meaning for her, now shared with me.
The sky cracked open. Rain poured.
Some challenges in life you can anticipate. You see them building. You can prepare. Sometimes the wisest thing is not to run — but to wait, to stay present, to meet it together.
And then, when it was time, we drove back through the storm. Sheets of rain on the windshield, thunder splitting the air. Difficult, wild, and yet — alive, electric, unforgettable.
Not every storm is yours alone. Sometimes it belongs to a place, to a friend, to a moment held together.
Walking Away
The Jura wasn’t just a walk. It was a mirror.
Three nuts on one stem: difference is luck.
Fungi on fallen wood: endings feed beginnings.
A sprig of thyme: small is strong.
Horses approaching: trust is presence.
Storm and thunder: some trials you see, some you endure.
Walking from Jura, I carried more than memories. I carried reminders.
That nature speaks the language of becoming.
And if you listen closely, it will show you how to live.
With warmth,
— Jay
