Sunlight filters through the trees in spots and drops. The days are long now and it's near nine before the glow comes in.
She starts her steps down the path; she knows them by heart: The footbridge over the boulders, the traverse across the hill, and the stair-stepped rocks, already there like this land wanted to be explored, settled, storied.
Leaves rustle, light bounces, the big pine creaks.
The water comes into view, turning liquid silver against the darkening forest. It's a calm night.
Steady laps hit the boulder shore and she feels settled. In the bottom of her soul this is the rhythm of her heart.
She has plans to story this land - a little, green, forested world in the big wide one.
Campfires and marshmallows. Snowshoeing and stew. Blueberry hunts, too. Being together in the sun, the snow, the thunder and the wind. This little world will fill, she knows. But for now, right now, it's all hers:
It's her water on the rocks, her rustle in the trees, and her sun that drops slow with the promise of tomorrow, the promise of time to explore, settle, story.