Forests hold their breath when you enter, as if deciding whether you are guest, ghost, or something in between.
Leaves sway in languages older than roads, and bark bears the fingerprints of wind and waiting.
Walk slow. The path is watching too, curious to see who you become when no one else is around.

That moment stayed with me longer than I expected.

It’s rare when a comment feels like meditation.

Your reply settled like fog over a calm lake.

I think you just taught me how to be softer with strangers.