The Emerald Canopy Before this story begins,
Let yourself soften.
Feel the place beneath you holding your weight,
Steady,
Patient.
Let your feet grow heavy,
Your calves and your thighs loosen,
Your belly soften.
Let your shoulders slide away from your ears,
Release any tension in your jaw or your tongue.
Allow your eyes to rest as though sleep has already arrived.
Take a slow breath in and then let it pour out.
Again,
In and out.
With each exhale imagine melting just a little deeper into comfort.
Let the edges of your day grow fuzzy,
Your thoughts fading into the background,
Everything becoming quiet.
You are ready to rest,
Ready to peacefully drift through the night.
And as you rest,
Let the story carry you.
There is a rainforest that only reveals itself when everything slows down.
It is not loud,
It is not wild.
It is soft,
Glowing,
Endlessly alive in the gentlest of ways.
Here,
Twilight rests between the trees and never fully leaves.
The canopy above is thick with leaves the size of blankets layered in shades of jade and emerald.
Light filters through in slow ribbons,
Turning raindrops into tiny floating crystals.
You stand on a narrow path of smooth dark earth.
The ground is springy beneath your feet,
Covered in moss that cushions every step.
The air is warm and clean,
Rich with the scent of wet leaves and blooming flowers.
A slow rain falls,
Not heavy,
Not cold,
Just enough to make everything shine.
Tap,
Tap.
Each drop lands on broad leaves overhead,
Sliding along veins before dripping down again.
Blip,
Blip.
Somewhere deeper in the forest,
Water moves.
A stream,
Or a waterfall,
Or both.
It hums quietly,
A low constant note woven through the air.
You begin to walk.
There is no rush,
And the path curves gently forward,
Always inviting,
Never steep.
Vines drape lazily from tree to tree,
Swaying with the breeze.
When droplets fall from their tips,
They sparkle briefly,
Then vanish into the soil.
Tiny frogs rest on glossy leaves nearby.
They blink slow,
Vibrant eyes and make soft,
Rhythmic calls.
The sound is soothing,
Measured,
Like a lullaby the forest has been singing forever.
Fireflies float between tree trunks,
Their lights blinking in unhurried patterns.
Glow.
Pop.
You notice your breathing matching the rhythm around you.
Slow.
Easy.
The rain continues.
Tap.
Soon the path widens slightly.
A wooden footbridge stretches over a shallow stream.
The water is clear,
Sliding over smooth stones,
Carrying reflections of leaves and light.
Slip.
Slide.
Slip.
Slide.
You rest your hands on the railing.
The wood is warm,
Alive with quiet growth.
The stream sings its soft song.
The rain answers.
The frogs hum along.
Everything layered,
Nothing demanding.
You cross the bridge.
On the other side the moss grows thicker.
Your steps become silent.
Huge tree trunks rise around you.
Their bark textured with spirals and ridges.
Roots curl across the ground like sleeping animals.
You step over them easily.
They seem to move out of your way.
The canopy opens just enough for pale moonlight to filter through,
Silvering the leaves.
Mist drifts low to the ground,
Curling around your ankles.
Cool.
Silky.
Weightless.
You continue walking.
The rainforest repeats itself gently.
Another curve in the path.
Another curtain of vines.
Another chorus of frogs.
Another shimmer of fireflies.
It all feels familiar.
Comforting.
As though you've wandered this trail many times before.
Soon the footbridge appears again.
The same smooth railing.
The same singing water.
Slip.
Slide.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
You pause.
Listen.
And the forest breathes.
And the sway of the leaves.
And the fall of the rain.
In the steady stream.
You cross once more.
Moss underfoot.
Roots curling.
Mist drifting.
Over and over.
Softly.
The light never changes.
Always twilight.
Always glowing green and silver.
The air stays warm.
The rain stays gentle.
The frogs keep calling.
Fireflies blink.
Glow.
Pause.
Your body feels heavier now.
In that pleasant way that means the earth has decided to carry you.
Your thoughts stretch thinner.
Longer.
Quieter.
The path curves again.
The bridge waits again.
You lean on the railing.
Listen to the water.
Slip.
Slide.
Slip.
Slide.
Feel the mist.
Smell the rain.
Hear the leaves whisper overhead.
You continue to walk.
And walk.
And walk.
The rainforest continues its endless lullaby.
Rain tapping leaves.
Water flowing.
Frogs humming.
Fireflies drifting.
The same.
And the same.
And the same again.
You follow the path.
It curves.
It widens.
It narrows.
And then curves again.
Always leading you gently forward.
Always bringing you back to familiar places.
As though the forest itself knows exactly how to keep you resting.
The canopy close.
The rain falls.
The stream sinks.
And somewhere between mossy ground and silver leaves.
Between frogs calling and drifting mist.
You realize the rainforest will keep going.
And going.
And going.
Long after you've fallen asleep.
Still glowing softly.
Still raining gently.
Still guiding you along.
The quiet green path beneath the emerald canopy.
