In the corridor of the whispering forest,
the leaves murmur secrets of the ancient path.
The trees lean close, their bark worn with age,
as if to share tales of forgotten dreams.
Footsteps echo in the corridor,
yet no one walks beside you.
Shadows play along the edges of light,
flickering like the thoughts of a half-remembered dream.
Patterns unfold in whispered tones,
fractals of thought cascading like autumn rain.
Each drop a memory, each memory a corridor,
winding through the forest of the mind.