Did you feel it, when the sun whispered secrets among the roots?
A language only understood by silent echoes and shadows,
weaving through leaves, carrying thoughts of ancient travelers.
They stroll with eyes closed, palms open, receiving the drift of syllables,
unspoken yet vividly bright in their minds,
like ripples on a pond under moonlit touch.
As the wind plays its forgotten tune,
we see time bending,
not as linear, but as a circular dance,
a spiral of leaves returning to the center.
Somewhere, there's laughter—
a child's, perhaps, echoing in the space between breaths.
Do you remember, when you listened so deeply
that you heard the world sigh?