Reverie
Émilie was walking in the woods. She had hoped for a pleasant time, but the heat was oppressive, even though the shade of the jade-green leaves offered her scant refuge. Seated on a rock, sipping the last of the water from her flask, she let herself drift into a daydream. Carried by the rustling foliage, she was transported back to a bygone era when—like a dryad with diaphanous wings—she would quench her thirst at a pure, cool spring gushing from beneath the trunk of an ancient oak. Beneath the tangled roots lay a carved stone; water flowed from the face of an ancient spring deity who once walked the Earth with a light, airy step. Here, everything was cool and calm; everything was so beautiful, so vibrant, so... Émilie opened her eyes; the dream had vanished. She rose and resumed her journey beneath the blazing sky.
This fable, too, lacks a clear moral; yet, dear readers, if your narrator may offer a single piece of advice, it is this: cherish Nature and act responsibly, for we have such great need of her.
Yours truly, my dear friends