Breath

The morning is draped in mist, soft and silver, curling through the forest like a dream reluctant to wake. Each step along the damp path carries the muffled crunch of leaves and the faint scent of moss and rain. The air is cool and startlingly clean, and as I draw it into my lungs, I feel as if I’m inhaling the forest itself—its quiet strength, its hidden life.

 

With every breath, a heaviness I didn’t know I carried begins to lift. My shoulders relax, my heart feels lighter, and a subtle energy sparks in my chest. The world is hushed but alive—tiny droplets cling to ferns, distant birds call to one another, and the trees stand tall like patient guardians. I pause for a moment, letting the mist bead against my skin, and breathe deeply again.

 

In this simple act of walking, of filling my lungs with fresh, unfiltered air, I can feel life returning to me. Each inhalation seems to whisper, you are here, you are strong, you are alive. And with every exhalation, fatigue and doubt dissolve into the morning mist.

 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ukmjBSQY-c&list=RD6ukmjBSQY-...

 

Simon and Garfunkel - The Sound of Silence

Done