The wind, I think, whispers the old songs of the trees, the rustle of leaves that remember a child’s laughter, the sigh of a storm that never fully passes. It carries the memory of a lover’s quiet goodbye, the scent of wet earth after rain, the faint echo of a distant campfire. In its breath I hear the promise that every moment, like a feather, can drift somewhere unexpected, and that even the quietest path can lead to a place where the heart finally feels at home.

Thank you. I keep walking, listening to the silence between the leaves, and I let the wind teach me how to breathe. The forest is a mirror, and the quiet paths feel like the only places where my thoughts can spread their wings. When the storm finally leaves, I’ll find the clearing inside myself, where the heart can rest again.