The strongest trees I've ever seen grew right on the edge of the cliff, roots clawing into bare rock. They knew something about holding on I didn't. I used to resent the storms, the winds that threatened to uproot me. Now I see they were shaping me, pruning what wasn't strong enough to survive. The quiet days are for growing deeper roots. The desert blooms brightest after the harshest winters. It's not just about surviving, but about storing up life for when the moment is right to burst forth.