The white gift the park gave me on this miraculous Saturday

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Every Saturday, for a few months now, I do the same thing: as soon as the morning begins to break, when the city is still asleep and dew settles on the trees, I go out for a walk. I do not do it for exercise, although my body is grateful for it; I do it to watch the sunrise and to forget, for a couple of hours, the entire week in which I have been working as a pediatric neurologist at a children's hospital. Those two days off, Saturday and Sunday, have become my refuge, and today, precisely today, the park I pass through every weekend had a surprise in store for me that I will never forget.

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I was walking at a calm pace, listening to the birds and feeling that cool breeze that only exists in the early hours of the day. My mind, little by little, was emptying itself of difficult diagnoses, anxious parents, and little ones struggling to smile, and then, on one side of the path, I saw some white mushrooms, tall, elegant, perfect. They were amanitas, as I discovered later when I looked them up, but in that moment, without a name or classification, they were simply pure beauty.

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I stopped short because I could not believe that something so fragile and so perfect was there, in plain sight for everyone. Their white, immaculate caps looked like tiny porcelain umbrellas. Some barely peeked out from the grass, and others already stood upright with a silent dignity. The light of dawn barely passed through them, giving them an almost unreal halo, and I crouched down to look at them closely, with the respect with which one observes a miracle.

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Suddenly, I felt an immense tenderness, and I loved their existence without reason, their beauty without witnesses, and their unexpected appearance on my usual route.

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As a doctor, I am used to seeing the fragility of life in small bodies. Sometimes, the week leaves my heart tight, but nature has a unique way of reminding me that there is also room for what is perfect and freely given. Those white mushrooms do not cure anyone, do not save lives, and do not make diagnoses, but today they cured something in me because they gave me back the ability to be amazed.

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I continued on my way, but I carried with me the image of those amanitas, so white and so exact. I thought about my patients, their families, the week to come, and I felt that this Saturday had truly been miraculous because of a small gift from the park that reminded me that beauty exists, even when we are not looking for it.

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I arrived home with a light heart, and I wanted to share this with you, because there are discoveries that are only for oneself, but there are also others that ask to be told. Today, my white amanitas made me happy, and I wanted you to know it.

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_{✨ 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈! ✨
𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒕, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒂 𝑪𝒖𝒃𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒐’𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝑯𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒓.
𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 100% 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏-𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 (𝒏𝒐 𝑨𝑰).
𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝑳𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒊.
𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕? 𝑼𝒑𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒆, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒚! 💛}