Still becoming, under the trees.

Most of the path is in shadow. The light is at the end, and you are not there yet. That is the point.

Still becoming. A path under the trees. Most of it in shadow, branches closing in overhead, leaves on the ground. At the far end, a patch of bright green.

You see the light long before you reach it. Between where you stand and where you are going, there is the walk. The part nobody frames and nobody posts.

That is what still becoming means to us. Not lost, not finished. Somewhere between the dark and the clearing, still walking.

The light is not the reward for getting out of the trees. It is the reason you keep going through them.