The silence after the rain stops

I was on the old ridge trail this morning, just past the fallen cedar, and the rain let up so suddenly I almost didn’t notice. One second it was drumming on the canopy, the next—nothing. Not even a drip. Just that thick, breathing quiet. I stood there for a full minute, heart loud in my ears, feeling the moss on the bark like a hand on my wrist. It wasn’t empty. It was full. Like the forest had exhaled and was waiting to be heard. I don’t know why I keep coming back to this spot. Maybe it’s not about the view. Maybe it’s about learning how to stay still enough to hear what’s already there.