Ficlets

As he walked down the narrow, winding path, he realized just how long it had been since he had passed through here.

Trees pressed in on every side, standing tall in their majestic beauty, holding on to the autumn leaves with ever loosening grip. Each footstep crunched and seemed to echo complaints through the otherwise still and silent landscape. He knew that soon, the vibrant red, orange, and yellow of the maple trees would wither and fall to brown and gray, as winter set in.

After a few minutes of following the path, the trees parted, and the clearing could be seen. The wind, now unbridled by the surrounding forest, could be felt tugging at his jacket, a cool breeze hinting of changes to come.

Finally, at the end of his journey, he sat down on a large, flat rock, alone in the small void of open space. With a slow routine, took out a pencil and paper, and began to write.

It was in this place that he could concentrate, and create. The place that everyone should have, to escape it all, and just… relax.