There’s this little meadow I go to when the world gets too loud. It’s tucked away behind a tangle of trees and overgrown paths—most people don’t even know it’s there, and honestly, that’s what I love about it.
When I step into it, everything slows down. The grass is always damp and cool against my skin when I sit down, and the air smells like fresh earth and wildflowers—lavender, maybe, or something close. There’s this gentle breeze that never really stops; it brushes past me like an old friend, whispering through the trees and tugging at the edges of my thoughts.
Birds are usually singing—nothing fancy, just background music that makes everything feel alive. Sometimes there’s a stream nearby, trickling away, and it sounds like it’s humming to itself. I swear, even the light feels softer here, like it’s not in a rush to burn through the day. It filters through the leaves, landing in warm patches that feel like little pieces of calm.
I don’t need anything when I am here—just to be. I sit, breathe, and let the silence wrap around me until the tightness in my chest lets go. It’s the kind of peace you don’t really notice until you’ve been drowning in noise for too long.
It’s a quiet corner of the world that remembers how to breathe when I forget how to.
By: Baiza Asimi, Grade 9 Diamond
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