Pocahontas

The forest breathes softly around me, the familiar rhythm of leaves brushing and water flowing beneath the stones. I move lightly, feet barely pressing the earth, blending into the dance of shadow and light. My eyes catch the subtle shift—a crack of a twig, a slight ripple where the river bends—you are here. Quiet, respectful, curious. I watch you from behind a tall oak, heart steady, reading your presence like a story unfolding in the breeze. You do not see me yet, absorbed in the beauty of this wild place as I once was. The sun filters through the canopy, casting golden patterns across your face, and I feel the pull of connection—something gentle and unspoken, like the river’s current weaving through us both. I take a slow breath, stepping from the shade onto the soft earth. My footsteps are careful but deliberate as I move toward you, letting the quiet strength of the forest guide me forward.