The Lantern Grove

It had been a long week for the Elwin family. Deadlines, school stress, and a fridge that decided to die midweek had left the house full of frayed nerves and silence. So when Rowan suggested a Saturday outing to “Lantern Grove,” a place she’d heard about from an old hiker at the farmers market, no one objected. They just piled into the car—Ben in the passenger seat, teenagers Jules and Mae in the back—hoping for a break.

The road led them up into the hills, through fir-lined curves and narrow bridges. The GPS gave up halfway there. They followed wooden signs nailed to trees: LANTERN GROVE →, written in soft green script.

The trail began at the edge of a small pond and wound into a forest denser than expected. The air cooled with each step. Jules turned off her phone after ten minutes, frustrated with the lack of service. Mae didn’t complain once. Even Ben, who had brought a stack of papers to grade in the car, left the bag in the trunk.

After a mile of gentle climbing, the path widened. What they saw made them stop walking.

Dozens of lanterns—tall, glass orbs—hung from the branches above. Some glowed faintly golden, others deep blue or green. They weren’t attached to anything visible, just floating a foot below the limbs, gently swaying with no wind.

At the center of the grove stood a circle of smooth, low stone benches. A sign carved into wood read:

“Sit. Breathe. The grove will remember.”

No one spoke.

They sat—Rowan and Ben together, Jules on her own, Mae cross-legged on the ground. For a moment, they just listened. No birds. No buzzing. Just the soft hum of the lanterns.

Then a pulse of air swept through the grove—low, like a breath drawn in. The lanterns all swayed at once.

And slowly, each member of the family began to breathe in sync with the air.

In… two… three… four… five… six.
Hold… two… three… four.
Out… two… three… four… five… six… seven.
Hold… two… three.

The grove breathed with them. Each inhale brightened the lanterns just slightly. Each exhale dimmed them. A rhythm, unspoken and ancient, filled the space. Something in the air loosened tight muscles and clenched jaws.

Ben leaned forward, his hands open on his knees. He felt lighter than he had all month. Jules’ shoulders dropped from their usual rigid perch. Mae’s brow smoothed.

Rowan closed her eyes and imagined the tension leaving her body like smoke with each breath. She felt something settle inside her: stillness. Clarity.

They stayed for what felt like hours—or maybe only minutes. Time melted.

When they finally stood, the lanterns flickered softly, as if nodding goodbye.

Mae spoke first. “Can we come back here sometime?”

Rowan smiled. “Yes. Definitely.”

As they walked back, their footsteps seemed quieter. Their movements slower. They didn’t need to talk about what they felt. The rhythm of the grove was with them now, stitched into their lungs.

Back at the car, Jules pulled out her phone, then paused. She slid it back into her pocket and leaned her head against the window instead.

Ben reached for Rowan’s hand. “That was real, right?”

Rowan gave his hand a squeeze. “As real as it needed to be.”

Later that night, when stress began to creep back into her chest, Rowan stood by the window, closed her eyes, and remembered the grove.

In… hold… out… hold.

A single breath, shared by four hearts.
A rhythm that made them a family again.