🪨 The Stone That Knew Its Place

A Myth for the Children Who Carry the Not-Knowing

Sometimes the forest gets loud.Not scary loud. Just… life loud.And when that happens, the stories don’t disappear.They wait and arrive when things settle.

Welcome to The Hollow Tree.

This is a story for the children who carry something they cannot quite name.For the ones who feel a pull inside their chestand aren’t sure whether it means stay… or go.

Let’s begin.

🍃 Forest Friend Whisper

[Chime]

“At the far edge of the garden, where the fence leans and the blackberries tangle on purpose, there is a path you can only see when you stop trying to find it.”

[Chime]

🪨 The Stone That Knew Its Place

A Myth for the Children Who Carry the Not-Knowing

And now, the tale.

At the far edge of the garden,where the fence leaned just slightlyand the blackberries were allowed to tangle as they pleased,there was a path only visibleif you were not in a hurry.

The path led to the Hollow Tree.

One afternoon, when the air felt thick —like it was holding a thought it couldn’t quite finish —a child named Elio came walking down that pathwith both hands wrapped around a smooth gray stone.

The stone was not large.It fit neatly in his palms.

But Elio held itthe way some children hold glass.

Behind him came Juniper,stepping only on the flattest parts of the earth.Avoiding cracks.Avoiding roots.

“You’re holding it tight,” Juniper said quietly.

“It keeps changing,” Elio replied.

They reached the Hollow Tree.Moss stitched its north side.The bark held the day’s warmth like a pocket.

Elio stepped inside the hollowand sat cross-legged.

Juniper sat near the entrance,where the light made a soft doorway.

“What changes?” Juniper asked.

Elio turned the stone over.

“Where it belongs.”

Juniper waited.

The tree did not rush him either.

“Sometimes it feels like it belongs in my pocket,” Elio said.“Sometimes it belongs in the river.Sometimes I think I should throw it as far as I can.”

Juniper considered this carefully.

“Does it say?” she asked.

Elio shook his head.

“It doesn’t talk.It just… pulls.”

The wind moved through the meadow beyond the tree.It bent the grassesand let them rise again.

Juniper leaned back against the inner wood.

“When things pull,” she said slowly,“I try setting them down.”

Elio looked at the stone.His fingers had left faint warmth on its surface.

He placed it on the floor of the hollow.

Nothing happened.

The tree did not glow.The ground did not shift.The stone did not roll.

It simply rested.

Elio waited.

“Is it different?” Juniper asked.

Elio tilted his head.

“It’s quieter,” he said.“When it’s not in my hands.”

Juniper nodded.

The afternoon insects began their small ticking songs.Somewhere beyond the blackberries,a crow called once… then again…as if checking the shape of the air.

Elio watched the stone.

“Sometimes,” he said,“I think it’s the feeling of not knowing where I go next.”

Juniper traced a line in the dust with her finger.

“Next doesn’t always know either,” she said.

Elio gave a small half-smile.

The light shifted at the mouth of the hollow.The sun had lowered just enoughto turn everything honey-soft.

After a while, Elio picked the stone up again.

He held it more loosely this time.

“It’s not pulling as hard,” he said.

Juniper stoodand stepped just outside the hollow.She looked toward the narrow streamthat ran beyond the meadow.

“We could walk it there,” she offered.“Not to throw.Just to visit.”

Elio nodded.

They walked the thin path,side by side but not touching.

The stone rested calmlyin Elio’s open palm.

When they reached the stream,the water moved around pebbles and stickswith patient sound.

Not loud.Not urgent.Just moving.

Elio crouched at the bank.

He dipped the stone into the water.

Cold slid over his fingers.The stone darkened.

He did not let go.

“Still yours?” Juniper asked.

Elio listened to the water.

“For now,” he said.

He lifted the stone back outand held it up.It glistened for a momentbefore returning to its quiet gray.

They sat by the streamuntil the honey-light began to thin.

On the walk back,Elio slipped the stone into his pocket.

It did not pull.

At the Hollow Tree,they paused once more.

The tree held its hollow openas it always did.

No questions asked.No answers offered.

Elio reached into his pocketand felt the stone resting there,steady and small.

“Maybe it just needed to know it could move,” he said.

Juniper nodded.

Above them,the sky turned from honey to blue.

The stone stayed in Elio’s pocket.

Not because it had to.

Just because, for now,it knew its place.

And that was enoughfor the walk home.

🍃 Soft Lap Whisper:

If something inside you feels heavy…and you don’t know whether to keep it, move it, or let it go…

you are allowedto set it down for a while.

Some things are not heavy because of their size.They are heavy because we do not know where to put them.

Even stones need to feel the water.

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 soon YouTube.

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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