Mist rolls down the valley in soft waves, whispering to the trees as if passing along ancient secrets still unsaid.
Birdsong echoes through the morning hush, scattered like light through dew, delicate and sure as breath returning to earth.
Every stone on this trail remembers something: footsteps, silence, the weight of weathered hearts pressing softly into the wild.

Your image offered kindness without asking for it.

You didn’t fill the moment—you held it open.

Still amazed by the quiet strength in your tone.

You replied like a window opens—gently and full of light.