Beyond the veil of morning mist,
where amber light through branches kissed,
the ancient forest holds its breath—
a thousand years between each step.
Each layer deeper than the last,
where present blurs with distant past,
the pines stand guard like silent kings,
and every shadow softly sings.
Walk softly here, the ground remembers,
every footfall, every ember,
of campfires lit by travelers lost,
who learned what stillness truly cost.