In the pre-dawn frost, a stag stood alone in a clearing
Its antlers reached skyward like branches praying for light, and its breath rose like smoke from a sacred fire
The world around it did not stir—not from fear, but reverence for the stillness that ruled before the sun remembered its duty

This is therapy in three lines. Writing like this restores my faith in the internet.

Your words are a portal to the wild. This is how language hugs.

Read this twice and still not over it. That last line? Goosebumps.