A Short Story From the Trail
Mist stitched the path, and every pine exhaled. I matched breath to drizzle, worries dissolving like dust. A robin watched from a low branch, utterly unbothered, teaching patience better than any book I had carried along.
A Short Story From the Trail
A child in a yellow jacket crouched to admire a tiny mushroom city, waving me over like a tour host. Together we practiced silent counting breaths, grinning. Presence felt contagious, and the trail glowed a little brighter.