When trees form a tunnel, even cyclists feel fancy.

The cyclist disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the shade of more trees ahead. I found myself lingering where I stood, caught between the stillness of the park and the quiet energy of movement that seemed to ripple through it. A jogger passed by next, her footsteps muffled by the soft grass at the edge of the path. The air smelled faintly of earth and leaves—clean but grounding. It struck me how this place felt like an unspoken agreement between humanity and nature: neither dominated, both coexisted. I moved toward a bench under one of the larger trees and sat down. The world felt slower here, as if time itself respected the calm.