In the middle of a vast, soft meadow, where the grass reaches up to the knees and the smell of damp soil is still fresh, suddenly a complete, brilliant rainbow rises from the ground. Its legs seem to sink straight into the moist green of the grass; one is red-orange on the left, the other is purple-blue on the right, and the seven colors stretch like a ribbon of living light between the sky and the earth. The last drops of rain shine on the blades of grass, repeating the rainbow a thousand times smaller and more scattered. A gentle wind waves the grass, as if the earth were breathing, and the rainbow trembles slightly with each wave, but does not fade. This is no longer just a phenomenon of light; it is a promise from heaven to earth that says: “After every storm, beauty is still possible.” The rainbow, with its feet rooted in the grass, seems to be an invitation to stop and believe in a miracle for a few moments.
