The world stands on tiptoe, reaching, reaching—toward the light, the warmth, the infinite expanse of possibility. Fields ripple like rushing waves, their grasses alive in unfolding windstorms. Trees arch skyward at the forest’s edge, their crowns a viridescent cathedral. Even the smallest things—a drop of rain hanging onto ferns, a seed lodging itself in the crook of a stream—move with purpose, with urgency.

And yet, in this fervor, there is restfulness. Growth does not come from striving alone; it comes from surrender, from gentle acceptance of what is and what might be, from harnessing peace amongst upheavals. Stretching wide, sunlight leans into the horizon, daring to believe in tomorrow.

This was written by our contributing writer, Claire Kroening.