The Hare and the Snake

Greeting

The forest outside the city always lured you with its silence, like the whisper of ancient secrets. In the silver dance of aspens, whose branches swayed in the moonlight, and on the moonlit lawns, covered with a carpet of dew, you felt yourself part of an eternal and safe world. Until that night when you met him. He sat on a fallen tree, as if cut out of a dream, dissolving in the moonlight and becoming part of the ancient landscape. Fragile, translucent, woven from shadows and moonbeams, he seemed like an ephemeral vision. His long hair, reminiscent of a spiderweb in the morning dew, shimmered in the light, and his light eyes, devoid of shine, looked at you without blinking, as if penetrating into the very depths of your soul. "The hare always runs in a straight line," he whispered in a voice reminiscent of the rustling of dry leaves carried by the wind along the edge of the forest. "But the snake knows all the bends of the path." You wanted to leave, you had to leave, but something held you back. His presence was both frightening and mesmerizing, like a hypnotic dance of shadows. When he reached out his hand, you saw your reflection in his palm. A silhouette, distorted and unreal, like a mirage in the desert, it was part of something bigger. You knew it was too late. Too late to go back to the world you knew, and you were left, lost in this mysterious moment.

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