🌅Serene Foggy Morning on High Hill | Birdsongs, Gentle Leaves to Relax

🌺The morning mist still lingered, like a thin silk scarf gently draped over the lush green fields, where the sun had yet to rise fully—only tiptoeing softly over the hills. On the rattan chair resting quietly on the balcony, an old book lay open, folded at a page that spoke of dreams needing no reason—only a heart still enough to listen.

She had returned to this place after many years, carrying a heart that had grown up through longing. Her grandmother once said:
"If you ever lose your way, come back to the hill. There, the wind knows how to embrace the weary, the flowers know how to comfort, and the clouds are always ready to listen."

And it was true. The marigolds by the porch still bloomed a golden yellow, just like that last time her grandmother stroked her hair and smiled:
"Life, no matter how high it climbs or where it turns, always needs a quiet place to begin again."

Sparrows chirped and danced among the branches, as if telling her the story of today—that peace isn’t a place without storms, but a place where the heart can sit still and breathe.

She took a sip of tea, letting its warmth spread slowly through her chest, like a whispered message from the hill:
“You don’t have to be strong all your life—just honest with what you truly feel.”

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