Wonderful words

From my balcony, the world unfolds in endless colors — a canvas painted differently with each passing moment.

At dawn, a misty veil wraps the trees and buildings, soft and tender, whispering promises of new beginnings.

As the sun rises, the sky blushes in hues of gold and crimson, casting a warm glow that dances through the branches, still strong and proud.

Evenings bring a calmer beauty — the sky melts from deep blues to soft purples and gentle pinks, a soothing reminder that endings, too, can be graceful.
And then, there are the sunsets — a fiery farewell, bold and breathtaking, before twilight sighs and the first stars prick through the gathering night.

Through all these moments — whether cloaked in mist, bathed in sunlight, or surrendered to the soft pull of dusk — the trees remain. And yet, always, the trees stand — tall, patient, unchanged by the moods of the sky above them.
Tall and unwavering. Sometimes lush with life, sometimes bare and stripped down to their essence, but always there.

Just like them, our lives pass through countless seasons. Our problems shift shades — bright and blinding at times, soft and fading at others.
Yet, beneath it all, if we stay rooted, we endure.
We bend, we shed, we bloom again.

The view from my balcony reminds me: storms may come, the skies may darken, but strength lies in standing through it all — with patience, with hope, and with quiet grace.

Rooted. Silent. Enduring.

So it is with life.
Our troubles, our joys, our uncertainties — they come in colors, too.
Blazing one day, fading the next. Sometimes overwhelming, sometimes barely there.
But like the trees, we are meant to stand.
To weather the brilliance, the bleakness, the in-between.
To know that the seasons turn, and we turn with them,
and that every hue, no matter how dark or dazzling, will pass.

And in the end, it is not the color of the sky that defines us,
but the strength of the roots we sink into the earth beneath.