There comes a point in every season when the little ones stop hiding quite so much. They haven’t left home, and they aren’t fully independent, but they begin to trust the world enough to step into the open.
This morning, the highest point in the puddle wasn’t much, a weathered log barely rising above the water, but to three young mallards it was exactly where they wanted to be. A place to dry their feathers, warm themselves in the sun, and watch the world from just a little higher than before.
Perhaps that’s how growth usually happens. Not in giant leaps, but in quiet moments when we realize we’re standing somewhere that once felt just beyond our reach.
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