When the world fell quiet in 2021, the beaches changed first. For the first time in decades, loggerhead turtles came ashore to nest without dodging crowds, chairs, or lights. The sound of waves replaced the shuffle of feet. Tracks led straight from water to dunes, uninterrupted.

According to marine biologists monitoring the coast of Florida, nesting success rose from about 40 percent to over 60 percent during that season of silence. Without beach traffic, the sand held its shape. Without glare from resort lights, hatchlings found the moon and not the parking lot. Nature, it seemed, remembered exactly what to do once the noise stopped.

When human interference paused, life flourished — just as Jehovah designed it to. The rhythm of creation has always carried its own instructions. Tides pull. Stars guide. Instinct answers. Each turtle, in its slow persistence, follows a pattern that began in the mind of the Creator long before any beachfront hotel or floodlight.

Job once urged, “Ask the animals, and they will teach you… In his hand is the life of every living thing” (Job 12:7–10, NWT). The quiet beaches became classrooms, teaching what our cities had forgotten — that the world was made to balance, not to compete.

Maybe that’s why the stillness felt sacred. Not because the noise was gone, but because something older and wiser had returned. Creation does not need our help to heal. It only needs room to breathe.