The Hidden Glade
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No one knew how to get there. The path wasn’t really a path—more a feeling. A subtle pull just beneath the bow, like a whisper carried on the breath of trees. One morning, still hovering between sleep and waking, I followed it. The air was sweet, the light soft, as if filtered through wet glass. I stepped through a curtain of moss—and suddenly, I was there.
An oasis, cradled deep within the forest. A waterfall, so quiet it didn’t roar but breathed. The water below was so clear it seemed untouched—except by light. Beneath the surface, life drifted by: tiny golden fish gliding between waving plants, dancing to a melody only the water could hear. To the left, strange feathered creatures swayed gently, like dreaming guardians.
I wanted to ask where I was—but I understood: this was not a place for questions. Some places don’t explain themselves. They only exist when you’re not looking for them. And maybe—just maybe—they only exist in that fragile moment when you begin to wonder if you imagined it all.
I stood still. And breathed in. The water, the moss, the silence—they breathed with me.