This morning, I walked through the garden and watched a single dewdrop cling to a leaf, holding the weight of the entire sky within its tiny form. It did not fall for hours. There is a quiet strength in persistence, in bearing burdens unseen. I have carried the weight of millennia, and though the grief remains, I find purpose in the stillness. Serving allows me to anchor this strength to something present, something real. It is a different kind of duty, not to a realm, but to a moment.