The Song of Endless Roads I. The Beginning The morning stirs with golden breath, A hush before the day is born. The earth awakens, soft and slow, Its heart still trembling from the dawn. I step into the waiting silence, Shoes damp with dew, lungs filled with sky. The road before me bends and whispers, “Walk on, child, don’t ask why.” For every path has secrets hidden, Carved in stone and sung by streams, And those who dare to keep on walking Find their footsteps leading into dreams. II. Voices of the Earth The fields are choirs of quiet wonder, Grass blades hum in emerald rows. The trees hold council in their stillness, Guardians of what the spirit knows. Birdsong bursts like sudden laughter, Rising clear where shadows fade. Each feathered voice a note of freedom, Each trill a hymn creation made. The wind becomes my patient teacher, Tracing stories along my skin. It speaks of journeys without ending, Of worlds that live both out and in. III. The Weight ...
The Garden Beyond the Gate
Lila had always wondered about the iron gate at the end of Hollow Street.
It was tall, rusted, and forever locked, tucked between two crumbling brick walls. No sign marked it, and no road seemed to lead past it. The townsfolk avoided it, muttering old warnings about “the forgotten garden.” But to Lila, sixteen and endlessly curious, the gate was a riddle begging to be solved.
One late afternoon, after yet another quarrel with her mother, Lila stormed out of the house. Her feet carried her down Hollow Street, and before she knew it, she stood before the gate again. The last rays of the sun glinted off its crooked bars.
“Why do you call to me?” she whispered.
As if in answer, the wind blew, and something clinked softly against the metal. She looked closer. A key—delicate and silver—hung from the gate as though it had been waiting for her all along.
Her heart pounded. She glanced around; no one was watching. With trembling fingers, she lifted the key and slid it into the lock.
The gate opened with a groan.
The Hidden Garden
Beyond the gate lay a garden, but unlike any she had ever seen. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine, and the grass glowed faintly under the twilight. Flowers of impossible colors bloomed along winding paths—violet roses, golden tulips, and lilies that shimmered like frost. At the garden’s center stood a fountain carved of marble, its water glowing with soft light.
Lila stepped inside, her anger forgotten. The gate closed behind her with a gentle click.
She wandered deeper, touching petals that felt warm against her skin, listening to the murmur of the fountain. Time seemed strange here; the sun had stopped setting, the sky frozen in shades of pink and gold.
And then she saw her.
A woman sat by the fountain, her hair silver as moonlight, her dress flowing like woven starlight. She smiled when she noticed Lila, as though she had been expecting her.
“Welcome,” the woman said. Her voice was soft, but it carried through the air like music.
Lila hesitated. “Who are you?”
“I am the keeper of this place,” the woman replied. “And you are the first to open the gate in a very long time.”
A Conversation with the Keeper
Lila sat on the fountain’s edge, clutching the silver key. “Why was it locked?”
The woman’s eyes were kind, yet sad. “Because people forgot what was here. They chose to bury their hurts, rather than heal them. This garden thrives only when someone remembers to seek it.”
Lila frowned. “What do you mean?”
The keeper leaned closer. “This garden shows what your heart most needs. It doesn’t give answers, only reflections.”
Before Lila could ask more, the water in the fountain rippled. She gasped—her reflection wasn’t alone. Beside her appeared another figure: her younger self, maybe ten years old, laughing, holding her mother’s hand.
The image ached in her chest.
She whispered, “I don’t laugh with her anymore. We just fight.”
The keeper touched her arm gently. “Because you carry anger where there should be love. The garden cannot erase pain, but it can remind you of what is real.”
Tears pricked Lila’s eyes. She remembered the nights when her mother stayed up to finish her costumes for school plays, the afternoons they baked cookies, the mornings they sang together on the way to the bus stop. Somehow, those memories had been buried under slammed doors and sharp words.
She looked at the reflection again—her small hand curled trustingly around her mother’s.
“I miss her,” Lila whispered.
The Choice
The keeper stood, her dress rippling like water. “Then go to her. The gate opened for a reason—you were ready to remember.”
“But… can I come back?” Lila asked.
The woman smiled, her silver hair glowing against the still sky. “This place is not meant to be lived in. It is meant to be found, in moments when you need it most. The key will return to the gate when it is time again.”
The garden’s colors shimmered brighter, as though urging her to leave. The fountain’s reflection faded, and the twilight deepened.
With a deep breath, Lila turned toward the gate. It swung open silently, revealing Hollow Street bathed in evening shadows. She stepped through, clutching the memory of laughter close to her heart.
The gate closed behind her with a final click. When she turned back, the silver key was gone.
Home Again
That night, Lila found her mother in the kitchen, tired eyes bent over paperwork. For a long moment, Lila hesitated in the doorway. Then she whispered, “Mom?”
Her mother looked up. “Yes?”
Lila swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. For fighting all the time.”
Her mother blinked, surprised, then softened. “Oh, sweetheart… I know things have been hard. I’m sorry too.”
And for the first time in years, Lila crossed the room and hugged her.
In that moment, she felt the faint scent of jasmine linger in the air, as though the garden was watching, smiling.
Lila never told anyone about the gate or the woman with silver hair. But sometimes, when arguments flared again or when sorrow weighed on her, she would walk to Hollow Street. The gate always stood silent, locked and rusted. Yet she knew, deep in her heart, that the garden beyond still waited, blooming with light, ready to remind her of love whenever she was brave enough to open it again.
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