The Meadow Before Rain

The traveler reached White Ash Meadow near the end of the day. The path into Anwyn had grown quieter with every mile. Farm fences had disappeared first, then cart ruts, then even the small piles of cut wood that marked places where people worked. By the time the traveler stepped beyond the last birches, there was no smoke, no roofline and no voice anywhere ahead. Only pale grass moved across the meadow. The traveler had been told that a narrow footpath crossed this part of Anwyn and joined an eastern road beyond the sanctuary stones. It was shorter than circling the hills, and the heavy clouds gathering overhead made the direct route worth taking. The late light was still warm beneath the storm. White seed heads shone against the darker slopes, bending gently in the wind. The traveler’s deep green cloak pulled at one shoulder, and the staff sank slightly into ground softened by rain from the night before. Then the wind changed. It came hard from the west in a single broad rush. Every pale grass head turned at once. The movement swept across the meadow like water, passing around the traveler and racing toward a small group of weathered stones near the far side. There, it stopped. Not gradually. The grasses nearest the stones became completely still. The traveler stopped too. Behind, the meadow continued to move. Ahead, the pale stems stood upright around the sanctuary stones as though sheltered by walls that did not exist. There was no sound except distant thunder. The traveler approached slowly. Nothing unusual could be seen among the stones. The ground was ordinary grass and earth, and the stones themselves were worn smooth by weather. At the centre lay a shallow depression filled with clear rainwater. Its surface remained smooth. The traveler waited until another gust crossed the meadow. Again the grass bowed. Again the motion weakened at the stones and vanished. Perhaps the shape of the land diverted the wind. Perhaps the stones broke it in some way that was difficult to see. The traveler did not need an answer. A first drop of rain struck the cloak. Then another. The traveler left the still centre and found the eastern path just as the storm finally reached Anwyn. Behind, White Ash Meadow disappeared beneath rain. For one quiet interval before it came, the sanctuary had seemed to hold its breath. Three hours of Celtic fantasy music and quiet sacred-land ambience inspired by Anwyn, with wordless female voice, Celtic harp, open grasslands, ancient sanctuary stones and the hushed landscapes of Awenreach. Created for reading, reflection, studying, dreaming and peaceful rest. Tracklist 0:02 – Into White Ash Meadow 2:52 – The Sanctuary Footpath 5:33 – Grass Bending Before the Storm 8:29 – The Ring That Holds the Wind 10:58 – Wind Across the Open Meadow 14:01 – Rules Older than the Road 17:01 – Stillness Within the Stones 20:26 – The Wind Falls Silent 22:49 – A Shallow Pool Unbroken 25:40 – Gold Before the Rain 28:44 – Toward the Eastern Road 31:38 – The First Drops 34:51 – Reprise #CelticFantasy #FantasyAmbience #CelticMusic #Awenreach © 2026 Awenreach. All rights reserved.