The Wind Between Worlds

It began with a simple plan: a family hike into the northern woods where the map marked a place called Wind Hollow. The name alone had sparked Callie’s interest—soft and strange, like a whisper from a dream.

“It’s a good distance for a day hike,” her husband Milo said, loading the car. “Quiet, uncrowded. A little adventure.”

Their daughters, Rowan and Lila, weren’t so convinced. At twelve and fifteen, they were more interested in staying home, plugged into screens and messages.

But Callie had insisted. Something in her chest had been tightening lately—between work, bills, and the quiet ache of losing her own father that spring. She hadn’t let herself slow down. And when she saw Wind Hollow on that dusty trail guide, something deep in her bones said: go there.

The trail was ordinary at first—pebbled paths, whispering trees, the smell of wet moss. Rowan collected sticks, Lila trailed behind with headphones slung around her neck, and Milo hummed tunelessly. They stopped once to drink water and once again when a swallowtail butterfly landed on Rowan’s shoulder.

Two miles in, the air shifted.

It was subtle at first. The breeze grew steady, like it was following them. The trees began to bend inward slightly, arching toward the trail as if ushering them forward.

Callie paused. “Do you feel that?”

Milo nodded. “It’s like the wind is… breathing.”

They came to a fork the map hadn’t marked. The left path climbed toward a ridge. The right dipped down into a narrow, shaded hollow.

Lila pointed. “It says Wind Hollow that way.”

A wooden sign, carved with unfamiliar swirls and script, pointed to the right. It hadn’t been on the map.

They followed.

The descent was quiet. Birdsong vanished. Even the crunch of their boots seemed muffled. At the bottom, the path widened into a clearing, perfectly round and ringed with pale silver stones. At the center stood an arch—two tree trunks woven together and shaped like an open doorway. The air shimmered around it, and the wind funneled through like a breath drawn in.

Callie stepped closer. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Rowan, curious, walked straight through the arch.

Nothing happened at first.

Then—light.

A slow pulse of blue-white shimmer filled the air. The wind stopped.

Callie stepped through. The moment she passed beneath the arch, a wave of stillness rolled over her. Sound dropped away. Her chest—tight for weeks—opened wide with a sudden, effortless inhale.

In for four… hold… out for four… hold.

It wasn’t her thought—it was the place itself. The clearing breathed. And with it, she breathed too.

The rest of the family followed, one by one. Milo blinked. “I feel... calm. All of a sudden.”

Lila sat cross-legged in the grass, confused but quiet. “It’s like the air is… teaching me how to breathe again.”

They sat in a circle. Callie took Rowan’s hand and reached for Milo’s. Lila linked in without hesitation. A breeze moved through them—not around them, but through, like a tide washing out tension and worry. The grass swayed in rhythm.

The arch pulsed. The stones hummed.

In for four… hold… out for four… hold.

They didn’t know how long they stayed. It could’ve been minutes or hours. No one spoke. They didn’t need to. Emotions they’d been holding without words began to soften and drift away—grief, fear, anger, exhaustion. The Hollow didn’t erase pain. It simply gave it space to breathe.

When they finally stood and walked back through the arch, the shimmer vanished. The wind returned, soft and natural.

Back at the car, they checked the trail map. The fork wasn’t there. The hollow wasn’t labeled. The clearing had vanished from their GPS.

“It doesn’t matter,” Callie said, smiling for the first time in days. “We found what we needed.”

On the way home, the windows stayed rolled down. The wind was loud. Full of breath. Full of life.

And even after they left the forest behind,
they carried the rhythm with them.
A family bound not just by blood,
But by the memory of breath shared between worlds.