Beauty of Nature.

Taken by: Stuart John Eichstadt

We all lived a childhood dream once, running barefoot through wet grass, the wind pulling at our hair as if it was trying to take us somewhere new.

People say that as we grow older, we lose the ability to see beauty the way we did as children. But I’ve always believed the opposite. Children notice everything. They hold onto details adults step over without thinking — the shape of a leaf, the softness of soil after rain, the way light changes the whole world for a moment.

I grew up surrounded by nature, where mornings were soft and quiet. There was a path that curved behind our house, lined with wildflowers and humming insects, and I walked it so often it felt like part of me. I remember the smell of rain settling into the dust, the way the hadedas announced each sunrise like it was a celebration.

To anyone else, it might have looked like nothing — just trees, just grass, just sky. But to me, it was peace.

Some people say nature fades as we grow older, that it becomes harder to feel that wonder again. But nature never leaves. It waits. Even in places that seem empty or rushed, there is still a breeze, still a tree stubbornly growing through concrete, still a sky that shifts colors without asking permission. Sometimes, we just forget to look.

I didn’t truly understand the depth of nature until I met people who were passionate about it — people who took the time to stop, listen, and learn its language. They taught me how to hear birds before I saw them, how to notice the trails animals leave behind, how to be patient enough to sit quietly and let the world move around me instead of forcing myself through it.

Taken by: Stuart John Eichstadt

When you walk a path in nature, you eventually realize how many other paths you could have taken. You notice the turns you missed only after they’re behind you. Life is the same. We move forward out of habit, repeating familiar steps because they feel safe. And then, one day, we look up and realize we’ve been on the same path for years.

But nature teaches something gentle: there is always another way. Another trail. Another beginning. Even if you have to make it yourself.

So now, I try to look a little closer. I try to remember the wet grass and the sunrise birds and the quiet roads that once led me home. The world is still beautiful — not because it changed, but because I decided to look again.