Dear Reader,

Today, I found myself reflecting on the quiet beauty of nature—how its magic seems to stir something poetic in even the most ordinary soul. I’m not a poet, yet when I’m surrounded by God’s creation, I often feel as though a poem is resting on the tip of my tongue.

This morning, my daughter and I went for one of our “Jane Austen walks”—the kind where we simply wander around the property, enjoying the view and each other’s company. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the brook babbled softly, and the trees glowed in their autumn attire. Dew sparkled like tiny jewels upon the fallen leaves.

The scene itself felt like pure poetry, yet all I could do was stand in awe—soaking in its peace and marveling at God’s creative genius. Perhaps I don’t need to write a poem to honor that beauty. Maybe the truest poetry is found in living gratefully—in noticing, celebrating, and giving thanks to God for the beauty woven into our everyday lives.

Here’s a poem my daughter and I love, one that I recently discovered my grandmother treasures as well. I’m delighted to share it with you—it’s a timeless piece, perfect for readers of any age. Enjoy!

Yours truly,

Brooke