I took a walk in a summer wood. It was around midday and the sun was nearing its peak in the sky. The weather was warm but not so hot it would make you uncomfortable. I started down a path that was well trodden, with leaves and twigs spotting the trail from trees overhead. The oaks along the path were old and full, covering the trail in a shade that blocked the heat from the sun.
As I walked along the path, I heard mockingbirds singing in the trees. The crunch of the gravel under my boots was the only other sound in the forest. I came to a curve in the path that ran to the left and disappeared behind brush and a large sycamore tree. To my right, I noticed grass lightly trampled over, as if a fellow traveler had recently walked that way. The hidden trail ran deeper into the trees and faded behind overgrown bushes.
I started along the trail, needing to satisfy my curiosity as to where it led. It weaved and curved through the trees, taking me away from the path and deeper among the oaks. I walked along until the trail reached its destination: a small meadow, hidden among the trees. Green grass covered the meadow like the calm waters of a motionless lake. A stillness in the air hung over the meadow and a tranquil quiet covered the landscape.
I stood on the border of the meadow, alone on the edge of the clearing. I stood still, heard the birds in the trees, smelled the scent of flowers in the meadow and watched the grass sway in the light wind. After a time, I decided to return to the world and said goodbye to the hideaway. I turned away from the meadow and headed back to path, and continued my walk in a summer wood.