Not every miracle announces itself. Some of them wait until you’re distracted, hands wet with a garden hose, mind somewhere else entirely. That’s when the soil gave way and baby ground squirrels surfaced—small, soaked, and blinking like they couldn’t believe the world had finally found them. You can almost smell the damp earth, feel the cool morning air, see the light catching on their fur as it turned from gray to gold.

This image exists because of waiting. Coming back the next morning. Sitting still. Choosing presence over productivity. Nothing flashy—just patience and trust that God reveals beauty on His schedule, not ours. When they appeared again, it felt like being let in on something private, a quiet agreement between creation and those willing to notice.