Willow & Wildflowers

Fox had a favorite path through the forest—quiet, sun-dappled, and just winding enough to keep it interesting. She rode it often, her basket lightly packed with blooms, ears tuned to birdsong and the rustle of new leaves. But on this particular spring morning, something caught her eye. Just beyond a tangle of willow branches, there it was: a narrow, almost-hidden trail she'd somehow never noticed before.

She paused. The kind of pause that isn't hesitation but invitation. The air was cool and fragrant, full of dew and possibility. With a soft smile and a gentle press of the pedals, she veered off course and followed the trail, letting instinct do the steering.

The path was quiet, the way only early spring can be—full of things just beginning. Ferns uncurling, petals still damp, bees testing their wings. Fox rode slowly, weaving between slender trees and watching as the trail opened into a small, wild glade that felt untouched by time. At its center: a sun-warmed clearing carpeted in wildflowers, their colors brighter somehow, as if the forest had saved them just for her.

She dismounted, padded through the grass, and knelt to gather a few blossoms—never too many, always with care. There was no need to rush. This wasn’t a place to pass through. It was a place to remember. She stayed until the sun shifted and the shadows grew long, then carefully tucked her finds into the basket and turned for home, heart full and pace unhurried.

The trail home felt different, though she knew every bend. Maybe because now, she knew there was more. More paths to discover. More beauty hiding in the quiet places. And next time—she wouldn’t wait for the forest to call. She’d be listening.