The wind whispered low through the amber-lit trees, a hush in the hush of the settling breeze. I walked with no purpose, no place to be, just the rhythm of steps and the breath of the sea. The sky wore the blush of the sun’s slow descent, soft golden edges, a day nearly spent. Leaves pirouetted, carefree and wild, the earth turning slow like a dreamer’s smile. For a moment, just one, the world stood still, no weight of tomorrow, no echoes to fill. Only the wind, only the walk, only the silence where so uls might talk. By Jason Strickland