On a rain-soaked morning, I wandered into a redwood grove wrapped in silence and fog. From beneath the massive trunks, a newborn stream traced its first delicate path — carving through needles and roots like ink across ancient parchment. This moment — ephemeral, easily missed — held more gravity than any sweeping vista. It whispered of beginnings: of how water, time, and forest enter quiet collaboration to sculpt the world. Realizing that I did not have long, I found my framing, set up and pressed the shutter before it vanished.