Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes.

Glimpsing at the abstract shadows reflected against the sun blanketing the pavement near the achievement center, inspiration is found in every shape. Observing how no two leaves are exactly the same size, I find myself in awe once again of His divine artistry. Watching a young mother with long, luscious brown hair and a blue denim jacket play with her young son, and seeing him crawl to her, is a much-needed reminder of how a simple pleasure can sometimes be sweeter than a grand adventure. As the intensity of the sun gradually grows and settles down, increasing and decreasing in fits and starts, it serves as a poignant metaphor for our own existence. Rainfall enters our lives, in both a literal and a metaphorical sense. We never have all the time in the world to enjoy the things that bring us joy, but we can remain joyous in our hearts even as we are obligated to face the challenges of everyday life. Our creature comforts, and the trials and tribulations that sometimes prevent us from being able to fully immerse ourselves in them for extended periods of time, play against each other in a frustrating yet lovely counterpoint, maintaining the balance of the universe. Seeing the woman in the denim jacket, and her brunette hair, reminds me of a famous picture of Chieko Honda, a Japanese voice actress who passed away more than ten years ago. I recall, as a teenager who had more of an interest in Japanese animation than I do now, being fascinated with Honda-san to the point of thinking about her while I was waiting for the bus after school released for the day. One of the few regrets I have is not writing a letter to her while she was still alive. I did write to Aya Hisakawa, a colleague of hers who was meteorically popular during the 1990s seiyuu boom--'seiyuu' being the Japanese terminology for a voice actor--during which Honda-san experienced her greatest success. Having written to Hisakawa-san a few times, I heard back from her at least thrice, as she sent some very nice postcards. She would always make them by hand, customizing them with pictures of herself, images encapsulating peaceful moments in time. The last one I received dates to early 2018, which was around the same time she was called on to succeed Hiromi Tsuru in the role of Bulma in the Dragon Ball series (Tsuru-san had tragically died of an aortic dissection just one year prior). A couple of subsequent efforts to write to her were not met with a reply, but I've never once regretted reaching out; it is a nice thing to be able to check 'write to Aya Hisakawa' off the bucket list. Getting back to Honda-san, there is an classic photo of her wearing a denim jacket not too different from the one the young mother was wearing, with a tag reading "POLISHED" emblazoned on the left hand side; it is quite a suitable description for her style of voice acting, which landed her countless roles (including multiple roles in the same series) for almost thirty years. Seeing her smile with all of her upper teeth showing, her brown hair cut into a youthful 'Peter Pan' look that still retains her femininity, her eyes brimming with an eternal optimism, provides not only an opportunity to reflect on a life well lived but a source of inspiration, an ideal towards which to strive, an image suitable to be immortalized in a leather jacket. Seated relaxedly at a nearby table, a young man and a young lady appear to be in deep conversation. The man is wearing a blue shirt, the woman a pink dress...traditional reflections of masculine and feminine. My infatuation with another voice actress manifests in what has become an instinctive urge to search for her on Google and DuckDuckGo. Observing her gaze, it feels as though I am in the presence of a motivating muse. I see her so often that it is as if she has become a close friend, though we have never met in person. For the distance separating us, I feel as though she's right there by my side. Knowing what I know now about the artists I respect, I have learned how to stay at a healthy distance. Periodically, I still write to people I care about, but tend to err more on the side of only doing so when there's a good reason for it. I may never get to rekindle many of the flames I extinguished through carelessness and stupidity, but I can nurture the fires that still burn. Sometimes, a fire will extinguish itself, or a bird will free itself from their cage. In her song "Fly Away", Sonja Ball--the lead singer of Sweetfield--reflects on her own desire to be free: "All you want is what you want / I've got nothing to say / Just let me fly away...I hear a new blue sky calling my name." It reminds me of the importance of not being selfish, of being able to recognize when things have run their course, of giving people space to breathe, of not wanting people to feel suffocated. The sun is once again bright, shining its spotlight on the nearby foliage. My attention is drawn to layers of yellow caution tape connected to orange poles, almost seeming to form the four corners of a boxing ring carved into the pavement; in the middle of that 'ring', there is a beautiful brown tree with sturdy branches extending in various directions. Tilting my head east, the tree can be observed with near-perfect visibility through a glass that also reflects the front door of the achievement center, its mirrored words understood. The tree itself appears to be in a victory pose, eastward and westward branches outstretched in the image of a champion fresh off their conquering of yet another challenger. Be it written or verbalized, I seek for my own voice to emerge victorious, to be resonant even when whispered. No matter how many copies of a work are sold, no matter how many I come into contact with, if my voice is heard by one other than me I've succeeded.