Among the whispers of the last autumn leaves, soundless echoes mark their journey below the hardy bark of time. Each ring, a journal, spinning tales forgotten by fog and humility.
Woven throughout the intrusive crevices of cracked bark lies testimony intended for those who seek truth in the gradient texture of scarred wood.
Shh, listen deeperThe heartwood bleeds through layered tales. Fractals of particles collected challenge those aching for authenticity, leading them only by the scent of obstinately obstinate dusk.
Imprint the momentBeneath the sprawling boughs, rest weary thoughts braided with complex simplicity. Painted imprints above and below snap a mind fastened to lingering question; what once was a shatter also learnt to be a vessel.
Referencing solaceTo glance afresh each bark-lined mystery is to reseek the forgotten identities gravitating unknowably toward sunlight; seeking breath's juxtaposition in mirrored serenity.