Among the roots, the ancient murmurs of the cedar weave tales not told. The sky
sighs through needles, breathing in fractions.Echoes of bark cradling secrets of dry moss fill the air with
twilight shadows.
Do you hear the whispers beneath the fallen leaves? Follow the cryptic language, the dialect of the forest.
Silent murmurs await your presence.
The canopy holds pieces of sky, fragments catch on wandering breeze. Listen to the willow's weep,
for it knows the lost songs sung by the trees.