Beneath roots entwined in cosmic knots, lies a message rolled in the curl of bark.
Listen, child of supple cravings, to the creeping rhythm of the sylvan compass.
Can you decipher the shivering green whispers of trunk and twig?
From the chest's cryptic heart pours moonlit echoes cloaked in soil's breath.
Step lightly. Balance on the line betwixt knowing and unknowing, where trills murmur.
What truth does the forest solemnly yearn to cradle in trembling childlike palms?