🌲 The Mossling’s Secret

A Hollow Tree myth for the ones who need soft places.

Welcome to The Hollow Tree

This is a story for the ones who feel a little calmer with bare feet,

…and today, something small is watching from beneath the soft green.

Let’s begin…

🕯️Forest Friend:

Have you ever noticed how moss always grows on the quiet side of things?

The backs of trees…the shade of stones…the places where secrets curl up and nap?

🌲 The Mossling’s Secret

A Hollow Tree myth for the ones who need soft places.

Long ago, before humans gave names to paths and fences,there lived a creature so small, even the ants mistook it for a dream.

It was called a Mossling—a soft, green being made of memory and hush.

Mosslings are born in silence.

Not quiet—the kind of silence that comes after someone stops crying.

They grow under trees that have survived lightning.

They are the healers of the forest floor.

This particular Mossling had a name,though it never said it aloud.

Names, to Mosslings, are sacred music.

But if you listened with your heart open,you might hear it:

Thimble.

Thimble didn’t have hands, exactly.Or legs.

But it had reach.

It could stretch its thoughts along the roots of things.Feel the worry in a sapling.Taste the hope in a raindrop.

It didn’t speak—but everything listened.

One day, the Hollow Tree—a very old friend of Thimble’s—leaned low and rustled its branches with concern.

“Something’s wrong,”the tree sighedin the language of wind and shifting light.

“There’s a child nearbywho has forgotten how to be soft.”

Thimble stilled.

And when a Mossling listens,the whole forest stills with them.

The child had been running.

Running from big feelings.

From slammed doors…and loud goodbyes…and all the sharp edges of being misunderstood.

He had wandered into the woodswithout shoes,without a coat,without a plan.

But the moss had noticed.The wind had noticed.The tree had noticed.

Thimble had noticed.

So the Mossling did what it always doeswhen something needs tending.

It reached.

Not with arms—but with warmth.

Through the soil,through the roots,into the soles of the child’s feet.

A message made of soft:

“You’re still here.You’re not alone.You haven’t broken.”

The child froze, mid-sob,as the moss around him glowed.

Just a little.

Not magic.Not showy.

Just… real.

Alive.

He sat down.

Cried a little more—but softer this time.

The kind of crying that washes.The kind that clears space.

And when he stood again,a tiny patch of moss clung to his heel.

It would never come off entirely.

Not with scrubbing,not with rubbing—

and not with the quiet knowingthat some things belongwhere they choose to stay.

Years later, that child—now grown—would walk barefoot in forestsand not know why it always feltlike the ground loved him.

Why sadness never lasted long near the trees.

Why moss always made him pause…and breathe.

He never saw Thimble again.

Not that he had ever truly seen Thimble—

but sometimes,there were warm dreams.

Dreams of moss.Of wind speaking through trees.Of something softthat never left.

He never saw Thimble.

But then again…

he never had to.

🌲 End Whisper

If you ever find yourself sad in the woods,and the moss feels warmer than usual…

that’s not an accident.

That’s a Mossling.

Still tending.Still here.

To the listeners.To the whisper-hearers.To the ones who hold story before it has shape:

We see you.We thank you.We will keep writing.

Thank you for listening to The Hollow Tree.

This is just the beginning,and you are always welcome to return—whenever you’re ready for another story.

You can find more tales and behind-the-scenes magic at thehollowtree.substack.com,Instagram @TheHollowTreeStories,and remember to follow along on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and wherever you listen.

Until next time—may the path be soft,and the whisper of the forest stay with you.

🍃🕯️

—Written and performed by Amber Jensen and the voices of The Hollow Tree

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Everything here is offered with care.And every listen, every share, every whisper down the line—it matters. 🌲

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