When I went up to the terrace to collect my dried clothes, I looked up and there it was.
Above the huge buildings, resting calmly on drifting clouds, the sky seemed to whisper: You may build anything, but you will never come equal to me.
That moment stayed with me.
We live in an age where height is mistaken for greatness. Taller buildings, faster lives, louder achievements. We rise floor by floor, believing we are touching the sky. But the sky does not move for us. It simply watches, vast and unbothered, reminding us who truly stands above.
No matter how much we grow, nature remains the head. We cannot compete with it; we can only learn from it. Nature shapes us quietly through the warmth of sunlight on tired skin, through rain that cools restless minds, through soil that feeds us without asking for credit. It molds us before we even realize we are being formed.
Yet when arrogance creeps in, nature knows how to speak firmly. Storms arrive. Rivers overflow. The earth trembles. Not out of hatred, but out of balance being restored. Nature does not destroy for pleasure it corrects when we forget our place.
And still, despite everything, nature shows mercy. Again and again. After every wound we give it, it offers healing. After every mistake, another sunrise. Forests grow back. The sky remains open. The clouds continue to float above our concrete confidence.
Standing on that terrace, holding warm clothes against my chest, I understood something simple and old: progress is meaningful only when it bows to nature. To take care of it is not weakness it is wisdom passed down through time.
We may build high, dream big, and rise far. But above all our creations, the sky will always remind us gently, lovingly, firmly that we are guests here, not rulers.
Thara
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