The garden at dawn was a quiet symphony, each note played softly by the world itself. The sky, still kissed by the remnants of night, was a canvas of pastel pinks and soft purples, slowly fading into the golden hues of morning. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the faint scent of earth and dew, and the gentle rustle of leaves danced in the early breeze.
A single ray of sunlight stretched lazily across the garden, brushing against the petals of a forgotten rose. Its velvet red blooms, heavy with dew, glistened like tiny jewels, each droplet catching the light in a delicate shimmer. The air around the rose was thick with the fragrance of jasmine, mingling with the earthy scent of wet soil and the faint sweetness of lavender.
The stone path, worn smooth by years of footsteps, meandered through the garden like a river, its edges lined with vibrant wildflowers—pale yellow daisies, purple lavender spikes, and soft, white baby’s breath. The flowers seemed to nod in the breeze, as if greeting the sun that was slowly climbing higher, casting long shadows on the ground.
In the distance, an old oak tree stood tall, it’s gnarled branches reaching up toward the sky like hands trying to touch the morning. The bark was rough and weathered, its deep crevices hiding secret stories. A few birds flitted from branch to branch, their songs soft at first, then rising in sweet chorus as they welcomed the new day.
A lone butterfly fluttered by, its delicate wings painted in shades of orange and black. It moved with grace, hovering for just a moment above the lavender before it was caught in the breeze and carried away, disappearing into the horizon.
The garden, peaceful and untouched by time, seemed to breathe alongside the world, every petal, leaf, and stone a part of the same delicate balance. It was a quiet sanctuary, where the rhythm of nature played its song without hurry, each moment stretching out like the first breath of a new day.
