100 words (more or less), writing


Fog softens the bare branches and sits heavy on the forest floor. The trees fade layer by layer into the distance and the land uproots itself—imaginary islands floating in a soft dream world.

We could be anywhere. Even the most familiar paths are new and alive with mystery. Unknowing, we have slipped into the thin places, where wild things dwell.

Time expands in the fog. There is no sun to mark the hours. There is only what we choose to do with our steps as our feet move through the damp, rustling leaves.