It was a cool Sunday morning when Anna laced up her hiking boots. The dew still sparkled on the meadows, and a delicate veil of fog lay over the forest. She breathed deeply – damp earth, moss, a hint of mushrooms. It smelled like freedom.
The path led her slowly uphill. Between old beeches, the sunlight danced like golden dust in the air. With each step, she left behind the noise of the week – the emails, the pressure of deadlines, the constant accessibility. Here, only the next step mattered. And then the next one.
Birds chirped, somewhere a twig snapped. A deer crossed her path, stopped briefly, and disappeared silently into the underbrush. Anna stopped, smiled, and suddenly felt infinitely light.
At the top, on the small clearing, she took a break. She sat down on a moss-covered rock, took a sip of tea from her thermos, and gazed into the distance. Fog swirls drifted through the valley, as if nature itself was still dreaming.
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