One of the most tender gifts nature offers is how it gently pulls us into the present, without asking, without demanding, simply by being.
It was the last Saturday of January, an early morning, when I found myself sitting quietly under a powder puff tree in a quiet corner of a park in Mumbai. The golden hour had begun to cast its soft light, the kind that makes everything shimmer with a little more magic. There was a hush in the air, a slowing down, as though the world had paused to breathe with me.
Then I heard it—the distinct call of a parakeet. I looked up and saw a vibrant green bird gently nibbling at the tree’s bright red flowers. The contrast was vivid and alive. As I watched, another parakeet took flight, and a single red flower floated down and landed near me. It felt like a silent offering—unannounced, unexpected, full of meaning.
Soon, more parakeets arrived, filling the branches with their playful presence. They turned the tree into their breakfast table. The rustle of feathers and the gentle snapping of blooms created a soft rhythm. It was not just a scene—it was a feeling. A stillness that spoke volumes.
As I sat there, I realised how often we miss such moments—not because they are not there, but because we are moving too fast. We are in a rush to get somewhere, to tick things off, to keep up. But nature does not rush. It unfolds. It invites. It breathes. And when we match its pace, even briefly, something inside us begins to soften.
Early morning is a beautiful canvas—the kind that offers a slower rhythm we rarely allow ourselves to experience. When the sun is still low and birds begin their rituals, there is harmony in the air. A kind of music that can only be heard when we slow down enough to listen.
Slowing down is not about doing less. It is about being more present. It is noticing the curve of a leaf, the way light filters through the branches, it is the feeling of your feet on the earth. It is a way of connecting—first to the world, and then gently, to ourselves.
And it does not take much. Sometimes, it is sitting under a tree without your phone. Sometimes, it is pausing your walk to notice the shape of a cloud or watching a bird land near you. These moments ask for nothing but your attention. And in return, they offer nourishment we often do not realize we need.
That morning, the parakeets reminded me of something simple but profound—everything in nature is connected in quiet ways. The birds feed from the tree and help it grow. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is forced. It just is. And in being part of that cycle, even briefly, I felt more rooted. More whole.
As I sat in that stillness, a small poem took shape in my heart:
A Quiet Gift
A parrot perched
on the powder puff tree,
Red flowers dancing
In the morning breeze.
Others came,
soft wings, slow bites—
No rush, just being.
Then they flew,
all but one.
As it left,
a single red bloom
fell near my feet.
No words—
just wonder.
Moments like this remind me that we do not need mountains or vacations to feel connected. Sometimes, all it takes is a bench under a blooming tree, a few deep breaths, and the willingness to slow down long enough to let the world in.
Next time you are outdoors, pause. Even for a minute. Look, listen, feel. Let nature speak to you. You might be surprised at the beauty it holds in silence.
All photos by Reshma Ashar
About the Author: Reshma Ashar is a psychologist by profession. She helps people reconnect with nature through Shinrin Yoku—Healing Through Nature Walks. She believes nature has a powerful ability to heal and loves guiding others to find peace, clarity, and balance outdoors.
