What is beautiful in nature is the struggle to thrive, not just survive. The roots, the branches, the blossoms all splay themselves outward with a flamboyant insistence of their right to be alive. They twist and writhe around each other in a tentacled dance performance, not choreographed or predetermined, but improvised to meet whatever changes that come their way. Their shapes are the embodiment of their struggles, filled with dead ends and a thousand little victories. We shouldn’t merely celebrate it; we must learn to emulate it.