In the whisper of rustling leaves, a silent conversation unfolds; branches stretch across galaxies, reaching for the intangible. Echo of the past or Liminal space, each path a diverging truth.

The universe swings upon a pendulum, each oscillation an eternity encased in a moment. A tapestry woven with threads of fleeting sands.

Do leaves remember their origins, or are they content tracing the dance of the wind? Roots ponder the darkness they dwell within, found only in stories told by starlight.