There was absolutely no missing them.
They were practically showing off.
Like gold buttons on a blue blazer.
Only there was no blazer.
Just an extraordinary collection of brown, withered, lifeless plants that had long since surrendered to autumn.
And there, standing proudly above the wreckage, were these brilliant little yellow flowers.
Common Tansy.
Or, rather appropriately, Golden Buttons.
The early morning sunshine had found them before I did.
And it was doing a magnificent job of illuminating their tiny golden faces.
I stopped.
Naturally.
When something that beautiful demands your attention, it’s only polite to oblige.
Besides, at Sachuest Point National Wildlife Refuge in November, finding flowers still blooming is becoming something of a treasure hunt.
I figured this was their last hurrah.
One final performance before winter lowered the curtain.
But then I noticed something.
There were new blooms emerging.
New blooms!
Apparently, nobody had informed these little optimists that the season was over.
I raised my camera and looked through the lens.
And that’s when something wonderful happened.
The flowers were beautiful, of course.
But the background!
Oh, that background.
The soft, dreamy bokeh transformed the surrounding landscape into a magnificent tapestry of autumn colors. Golden yellows melted into warm browns, muted greens, and gentle shadows.
Everything that had seemed so ordinary to the naked eye became extraordinary through the lens.
And there they were.
Those tiny golden buttons.
Standing center stage.
Bathed in a spotlight that only Mother Nature could arrange.
I couldn’t help myself.
I smiled.
Not the polite kind of smile you offer someone when you’re being introduced.
A genuine, spontaneous, from-somewhere-deep-inside smile.
The kind you get when you’re watching someone onstage deliver a performance so wonderful that, for a moment, you forget everything else.
And I wondered why.
Was it their beauty?
Certainly.
The colors?
Absolutely.
But I think it was something more.
It was their refusal to surrender.
All around them, the landscape was preparing for winter. Stems had browned. Flowers had faded. Seeds had scattered. The glorious abundance of summer had become a quiet memory.
And yet, here were these little golden flowers, doing what flowers do.
Blooming.
Not because the conditions were perfect.
Not because the season was particularly accommodating.
But because, for whatever time remained, there was still an opportunity to bloom.
And they were taking it.
That thought reminded me of something written by Viktor Frankl, the Austrian psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor whose extraordinary book, Man’s Search for Meaning, explored the human capacity to find purpose even in unimaginable suffering.
Frankl wrote:
“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
Now, I don’t imagine these little flowers were contemplating existential philosophy.
They were probably just taking advantage of a few favorable days of sunshine.
But nature has a remarkable way of reminding us of truths we sometimes forget.
We cannot always choose our circumstances.
We cannot stop the seasons from changing.
We cannot prevent every disappointment, loss, hardship, or unwelcome surprise that life places in our path.
And we certainly cannot make summer last forever.
Believe me.
I’ve considered trying.
But we can choose how we respond to the seasons of our own lives.
We can become so preoccupied with everything that has faded around us that we overlook what is still beautiful.
Or we can look for the sunshine.
We can recognize the opportunities that remain.
We can find reasons to smile.
And perhaps, even when the world around us seems to be winding down, we can discover that something wonderful within us is just beginning to bloom.
I looked through my lens one more time.
Those bright yellow flowers were surrounded by the remains of a season that had given us so much.
And somehow, they seemed even more beautiful because of it.
Perhaps that’s what made me smile.
Not simply that they had survived.
But that they were still contributing something beautiful to the world.
They weren’t waiting for better circumstances to shine.
They were shining right where they were.
And as I continued my morning walk, I carried that thought with me.
We spend so much of our lives looking forward to the next season.
The next opportunity.
The next adventure.
The next chapter.
Sometimes forgetting that the chapter we’re living right now still has something extraordinary to offer.
Even in November.
Even when the landscape has turned brown.
Even when winter is waiting just beyond the horizon.
There may still be a little sunshine.
A little beauty.
A reason to smile.
And maybe even a few new blooms.
After all, who says our most beautiful moments have to happen in the spring?
Love nature. Notice the little things. And never underestimate the power of a little sunshine.
I’d love to share my posts with you. If you subscribe, they’ll come straight to your inbox—most days, like a little note from me to you. It means a lot to know you’re reading along.
Browse my complete art portfolio and shop for prints at imagesbygacioe.shop
Leave a Reply