She could have picked anywhere. Instead she's settled deep in the middle of it all, peonies spilling around her, berries and blossom and shadow, completely at home in the lush of it.
There's no hesitating in her. No wondering whether she's allowed to take up space among all these grand, glorious flowers. She's soft and russet and still, holding her own without saying a word.
Because not all beauty announces itself. Some of it just sits quietly in the middle of the noise, sure of itself, glowing in its own gentle way. And this one's a little reminder that you don't have to earn your way into that. You're already in it. You always were.
