She hadn’t planned to go far. Just a walk, she told herself. Just long enough to escape the weight of her apartment, the sirens in the distance, and the ache that had curled into her chest and made a home there for far too long.

The healing woman stepped onto the narrow trail just after sunrise. Her boots sank slightly into the soft earth, dew soaking the edges. A light mist hovered over the marshland ahead, veiling it in silver. The cattails rose like sentries, unmoved by her presence. Somewhere nearby, a red-winged blackbird trilled a song she didn’t know but somehow needed to hear.

She didn’t rush. That was the point.

Each step was deliberate, each breath a small act of faith. The trail curved along the wetlands where the water lay still, reflecting the gray morning sky and the reaching fingers of birch trees. Frogs stirred at the edges, plopping into the shallows, their presence startling but oddly comforting. She paused, letting the silence soak into her skin.

For years, silence had frightened her. It reminded her of hospital waiting rooms, of nights when sleep would not come, of words that had been taken away before they had ever fully formed. But here, in this place where reeds swayed with the breeze and the world felt untouched, the silence was different. It breathed with her.

She moved slowly onto a path of wooden planks, weathered and worn smooth by the steps of many who had passed before. They floated just above the marsh, supported by quiet beams hidden beneath the water’s reflection. Beneath them, life moved. Small fish darted between roots, their movement creating rings on the surface. Dragonflies hovered low, their wings catching the light in quick, jewel-like flashes. One landed briefly on the rail-less edge of a plank beside her. She watched it closely, eyes scanning for any sign of red.

She had read once that red dragonflies were rare—an omen in some cultures, a blessing in others. She didn’t expect to see one, but she searched the air anyway, scanning every flicker with quiet hope.

The marsh was alive in its own unspoken rhythm. Turtles basked on partially submerged logs, motionless but alert. When she came too close, one dropped silently into the water, leaving only a ripple behind. Ducks glided through channels between tall reeds, unhurried and unbothered, their wake trailing soft arcs that broke the stillness. A mother led her ducklings carefully along a shallow bank. Their gentle procession reminded her of something ancient and reassuring; that life, even fragile life, could still find its rhythm.

The wooden planks gave way once more to earth, and the trail climbed gently into a broad meadow. Wildflowers opened toward the morning, brushing against her legs as she passed through them. There was no path here, only a quiet sense of direction. The air was warmer now, filled with the hum of bees and the gentle rustle of grass. She stopped and placed her hand over her chest. The weight she carried—years of grief, layers of noise, old injuries still healing—felt quieter now. She wasn’t sure if it had left or if the world had simply grown wide enough to hold it.

She lingered in the meadow until the trees gathered again. They rose tall around her, their trunks dark with dew and age. The path narrowed into cool shade. Ferns flanked her footsteps, their fronds curling and uncurling as if breathing with the rhythm of the woods. Somewhere ahead, water whispered. The healing woman followed it to a narrow stream where she crouched low and dipped her fingers into the flow. The cold shocked her briefly, but then comforted her like the truth. She let it run over her skin, steady and alive.

A flash of red caught her eye.

Hovering just above a patch of moss near the water’s edge, a red dragonfly floated, still for one perfect moment. It shimmered in the dappled sunlight, delicate and deliberate. She watched it without moving, as if even blinking might disturb the moment. Then, as quietly as it had arrived, it drifted upward and disappeared into the trees.

She smiled—not a full grin, but the kind that grows from somewhere rooted. She had come looking for stillness, and the world had responded in ways she hadn’t expected.

Eventually, the trail looped back toward the marsh. The mist had lifted, revealing the full spread of cattails and the glint of the planks she had walked earlier. The red-winged blackbird called again, a note of farewell or perhaps welcome; she wasn’t sure.

The healing woman turned once more to the trail before stepping away, not to look back, but to offer a silent thank you.

The walk was over, but the calm followed her home.

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