Echo of the Glen

At first light, the gorge whispered in gold — water turning to light, mist curling where the fae are said to walk unseen between moss and memory. This place remembers. Long ago, laughter and footsteps traced these stones; now only the echo lingers, softened by the years and the turning leaves.

 

They say the Fairy Glen near Llanrwst is where wishes hide in the water until the right heart returns to hear them. Perhaps it’s only the river speaking… or perhaps something older, gentler, calling across time.

 

The light was kind this morning — forgiving, almost — gilding what was once shadow. I

stood where the glen opens and the mist begins to lift, and for a moment the light felt almost familiar, like it knew the way back.

 

It is fabled that this is a crossing place — where the fae walk at dawn, and where echoes become lanterns for those still finding their way home. The water carries every name it’s ever heard. Some linger longer than others.

 

The light caught the leaves just so — and for a breath, it was as if time folded softly, and the glen was listening too.

Done