Whispers in the Mist

A windswept stroll where the pines keep our secrets

They met the morning fog at the shoreline, two small figures in a wide world, and let the wind write the first lines of their day.
He followed softly as her sage dress danced through the pines, laughter threading between branches and ripples.
On the dark sand they practiced distance and return—arms open, eyes closed, trusting the pull that keeps them near.
In the quiet marsh grass she paused, breathing in rain and green, holding a promise as light as mist and just as certain.