The Knees of the Earth

When I was seven, my grandfather took me to the edge of the creek behind his house. He told me to watch the mud, to see how it breathed. I spent hours staring at the gnarled, wooden fingers pushing up through the silt, convinced they were the knees of giants trying to stand up from a long, deep sleep. I didn’t understand then that these were not giants, but anchors—a way for the forest to hold onto the shifting earth while the tide pulled at its hem. As an adult, I find myself looking for that same stubbornness in everything. We spend our lives trying to stand tall, to reach for the sun, but we forget that our strength is often found in the parts of us that remain submerged, hidden in the dark, wet places where we are most firmly rooted. How much of our own history is buried just beneath the surface, waiting for the water to recede so we can finally see what keeps us from drifting away?

Saniar Rahman Rahul has captured this quiet persistence in his beautiful image titled Majestic Heritiera Fomes. It reminds me that even the most ancient things need a place to hold on. Does looking at these roots make you feel more grounded, or do you find yourself wanting to drift along with the tide?