The wind doesn't ask the tree for permission.
It just comes — bending the branches sideways, pulling the whole canopy in a direction it never chose. Anything rigid would snap here. But this tree doesn't fight the wind. It moves with it, bends into it, lets the storm reshape its whole upper half — while underneath, the roots hold their ground and go deeper with every gust.
Life doesn't ask you for permission either.
The plans that got rewritten overnight. The circumstances nobody warned you about. The moments you had to bend in ways you never expected, just to stay standing. You didn't break. You moved. You found the shape that let you keep going instead of the shape that made you snap.
The wind changes. The tree doesn't fall.
It adapts. It flows. It persists.
