She walked through the village, a village healthy and robust, a village tired and crumbling. A simple village, the balance of both. When she entered this place, she felt the pressure, but only for a moment. The charged air heaved and broke. With this sigh, the rain finally arrived and ushered in a great clearing of blue.
To those passing by, she stood tall and moved evenly. This transferred to them, a lightness. The homes, the stalls, the people walking the streets; full of breaths taken without weight. The people worked calmly, studied calmly, played calmly.
Some recognized the source and thanked her. Some failed to notice her at all. Often, even she failed to notice herself. At night, she slept heavily.
A dam was to be constructed. The villagers had argued the costs, the location, the obstruction; a river flowing just beyond the scene. But a calm overtook them. Agreeing to disagree, they stopped. The river did not.
To her surprise, her right foot sank deep into mud when she left the village.
The villagers noticed her absence through the presence of weight, friction, and tension. Debates for the dam resumed, despite a costly delay. The people resumed their lives, rubbing their necks and shoulders.
She traveled along a forest trail. The air was crisp. A gentle cracking of twigs and sifting of leaves signified her presence, but still she left no footprints.
The forest fluttered around her. The bees and mice did their gentle work while fleeing the birds and foxes.
She walked upon a quiet town as snow whipped and moaned. Small homes aligned a covered street. The bustle of cloaked strangers filled the night. The people were light and grew lighter. They left no trails. Their shadows brushed the snow, occasionally catching the wind.
Her foot fell heavily. Her next step fell heavier still. She collapsed to her knees, falling deep into the cold. The people walked past, and they had hardly noticed her. She had hardly noticed herself. The next morning, she woke covered in a blanket of snow.