Stillness

Description

Alone in the forest, time loses its edges.
The world goes quiet—not empty, but listening.
Pine trees stand like sentinels, unmoving, eternal.
And then, in the hush of being truly alone, something happens.

A branch creaks not like wood, but like a shoulder rolling.
A shadow leans forward—not with wind, but with breath.
The pines blur at the corners,
and suddenly, they are not trees, but something watching.
Something alive.

Not dangerous—just aware.

It’s not that the forest changed,
but that silence peeled back the layer we usually leave untouched.
The stillness becomes a mirror,
and in it, the quiet things stir.