My green meadow was not a place you could find on any map. It existed somewhere between waking and dreaming, beyond the last road and past the quietest thought. I discovered it one morning when the world felt too loud and I needed somewhere soft to breathe.
The meadow stretched endlessly, a sea of emerald grass that shimmered like it was alive. Each blade bent gently toward me as I walked, whispering my name as if it had been waiting. Wildflowers bloomed in impossible colors—silver-blue roses, amber daisies, and crimson lilies that glowed faintly at dusk. The air smelled of rain and sunlight, warm and clean, and every breath felt like healing.
At the heart of the meadow stood an ancient oak tree, wider than a house, its roots curling over the ground like sleeping dragons. Hanging from its branches were tiny lights, firefly-bright, pulsing slowly as if they shared a single heartbeat. When I touched the bark, I felt memories that were not my own—laughter, grief, hope, and courage—woven together like threads in a tapestry.
Creatures lived there, though none were frightening. Deer with antlers made of moss watched quietly from afar. Birds with glassy wings sang songs that changed with my mood. Sometimes a small fox with golden eyes followed me, always keeping a respectful distance, as if guarding a secret it could not tell.
The meadow responded to my emotions. When I felt heavy with sadness, clouds drifted low and the grass darkened, absorbing my sorrow. When I laughed, sunlight spilled everywhere, and the flowers leaned closer, eager for joy. I realized then that the meadow was not just mine—I was part of it. It reflected what I carried inside.
One day, I asked the meadow why it existed. The wind answered, soft but certain: To remind you of who you are when the world makes you forget.
I learned to visit whenever I needed strength. I never took anything with me when I left, except calm. And strangely, no matter how long I stayed, no time passed in the outside world.
My green meadow still waits for me. It always will. Because it is not just a place of grass and magic—it is a promise. A reminder that even in the harshest seasons, something gentle and alive can grow within us, endlessly green.
By Tag Game
