📖 Geschichtentext
When I walk down to the lake in the early morning, there’s a hush that feels like a reset. The city noises are still tucked behind buildings, and the air has this clean, honest quality that makes everything look possible. I breathe and for a moment I can actually feel peace untangling the tightness in my shoulders. The light on the water moves in a slow, patient rhythm and it puts everything into a kind of harmony—my thoughts stop jostling and line up like old friends at a reunion. There’s no urgency, no checklist; there’s only the private richness of the moment, the way a single gull cuts across the sky and the way my feet find familiar stones. That silence isn’t empty; it’s full, like a room finally furnished, and it brings a soft clarity. I call that feeling serenity, and somehow it stays with me through the day, like a hidden pocket of calm I can reach into when things get loud.