The trail led us up rocky switchbacks and through mountainside meadows. The morning breeze brought a welcome chill. Petite wildflowers, yellow and sometimes purple, decorated the way.
It was hard to tell that wildfire had violated this high desert oasis just over a year ago. Hard, except for a handful of trail-side scenes we stumbled upon. One rested ten feet from the trail, tucked behind a gnarled mesquite tree on top of the hill.
It hid itself in the tall grass. Easy to miss. A circle of wildflowers hugged the patch occupied by a lump of charred wood – a small victim among the thousands of acres the fires ravaged. It lay there black and dead and quiet. The flowers held vigil with dainty, stubborn dignity. Life was their testimony; beauty rebuked the haphazard destruction. Wordless tribute sprung from the nourishment the wood sacrificed, defying the past to all who cared to pass by and take note.
Let’s talk: When, lately, have you noticed a small miracle? Was it easy to spot or easy to miss?