Saturday morning arrived bright and full of promise, sunlight spilling over the edges of the window like a curtain being drawn back slowly. There was no mist today, no lingering chill—only warmth that built gently as the hours unfolded, a sure sign that summer was settling in for good. The air already carried the green scent of growing things: damp soil, sun-warmed leaves, and the first wildflowers of the season opening quietly in roadside meadows.

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The healing woman stood at the kitchen counter, sipping her morning tea as her son stepped into the room, sneakers on, shoulders full of anticipation. He had been waiting all week for this. Not a casual stroll or a quiet nature walk—but a challenge. An active, fast-paced trek through the place they both loved, with sweat on their brows and miles behind their feet.

By the time they arrived at the preserve, the day was well underway. The sun filtered through trees in broad gold ribbons, and the breeze was soft, cooling just enough to make movement feel refreshing rather than stifling. The gravel crunched beneath their boots as they stepped onto the path, and her son—taller now, more confident than ever—set off at a lively pace.

They crossed the boardwalk above the marsh, where dragonflies hovered just inches above the water’s surface, their iridescent wings catching flashes of light. The reeds swayed in the breeze, taller now than they had been just weeks earlier. Turtles sunned themselves on crooked logs, and clusters of tadpoles wriggled near the edges where the cattails broke the surface. Her son pointed out a great blue heron standing motionless in the shallows, and they paused just long enough to appreciate its stillness before continuing on.

Once they reached the end of the marsh trail, the path dipped briefly into the woods—the stretch between the wetlands and the lake. This section had always fascinated the healing woman. It felt different from the rest of the preserve—denser, quieter, and somehow older. The canopy overhead grew thicker, with sugar maples, white pines, and tall, straight hemlocks providing long corridors of filtered shade. The air cooled noticeably, filled with the scent of crushed pine needles, moss, and the first ripening berries on brambles just beginning to show fruit.

Here, the ground underfoot softened with pine duff, and their footsteps barely made a sound. A few chipmunks scattered ahead of them, disappearing into low-lying ferns. A woodpecker echoed somewhere in the distance, rhythmic and steady, and the trail narrowed just enough to feel intimate—like a passageway meant only for those who moved respectfully.

Her son walked ahead, leaping easily over a twisted root, stopping now and then to crouch beside mushrooms tucked into fallen logs. He seemed invigorated by the depth of the woods, his curiosity blooming with the same wild energy that defined early summer.

“Look at this one,” he called out, pointing to a large orange shelf fungus clinging to a stump. “It looks like a stack of pancakes!”

She laughed, pausing to take a quick photo. “The forest’s breakfast buffet.”

As they continued on, the light shifted—growing warmer and brighter again as the trees thinned, signaling the lake was near. They followed the trail until the sparkle of water appeared between the trunks, and the path spilled out into the familiar clearing where the stone wall wrapped around the most well-trodden section of the shore.

Her son darted ahead, reaching the wall with an easy bound, and she followed, slower but smiling. The lake shimmered under the midday sun, and a group of mallards paddled lazily near the fallen trees half-submerged along the edge. Several painted turtles lined up on a log, eyes half-closed, while a pair of swallows skimmed the surface, hunting insects.

They rested at the wall, taking long pulls from their water bottles, their breaths coming easier after the shaded stretch. The heat was beginning to build, but it felt earned. Not oppressive. The healing woman sat in the sun, her camera resting in her lap, not photographing this time—just watching, listening, being.

Her son stretched out on the grass nearby, arms behind his head. “We should’ve brought snacks,” he said.

“You just wanted an excuse to stop moving,” she teased, wiping sweat from her brow.

He smirked, eyes closed. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just pacing myself.”

After a while, they rose again, stretching limbs that had begun to stiffen. They retraced their steps a short way and then cut across the trail that led to the meadow. The grasses here had grown wild and tall, full of early summer color—goldenrod, yarrow, blue-eyed grass, and the feathery blooms of queen anne’s lace waving gently in the breeze. Butterflies floated lazily from flower to flower, and the humming of bees layered with the whispering wind in the most natural kind of harmony.

They didn’t linger long this time—just long enough to sit in the dappled shade of their usual oak, share some water, and let their legs rest. Her son pulled a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers, looking out over the blooms.

“Feels different here today,” he said.

She nodded. “It does. Like it’s ready to burst.”

The meadow, once a place of stillness and reflection for her, now felt like a prelude to movement, to growth, to becoming. And maybe that was the lesson summer brought—less about rest, and more about rising into something fuller.

After about an hour, they stood again, brushing grass from their pants and walking back through the meadow’s edge toward the trailhead. Her legs were tired. Her shirt clung to her back. But she felt good—deeply, truly good.

As they reached the car, her son opened the trunk and grinned. “Next time we start at the far side and loop back. Deal?”

She opened the passenger door and smiled back. “Deal. But I’m bringing snacks.”

He gave her a thumbs-up and climbed in, already planning the route in his head.

She looked out over the tree line once more before closing her door, letting her eyes linger on the canopy they had passed beneath—shade and light, stillness and speed, all held in balance.

And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was just catching up.

She was right where she needed to be.

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