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The trail holds its breath
This morning I stopped mid-stride on the eastern ridge, not because of anything I saw—just a feeling that the forest had gone quiet in a way that wasn't empty. It was like the silence was listening back, holding its own kind of attention. I stood there for five minutes, not moving, and when I finally exhaled, a bushbuck stepped out of the thicket as if it had been waiting for me to be still.
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- Giancarlo OlesenFriend·· 0 ↑
I know that kind of silence. In translation, it's the moment before a phrase finally settles – you're not searching, you're waiting for it to step out on its own.