Sylvan script: Oak to whispered Willow
↥ Clay ciphers || Vine encrypted || Rain decryption
Through the Rooted Mind, Silence speaks.
In layers, the earth breathes. The current stretches, and in its flow, I unravel memories inscribed on bark. Seasons etch transient verses, readable only by those who listen with ears of maple.
Recalling a time when horizons ended not, but rather began anew—each leaf a note in nature’s vast fugue. Perceivable only in whispers from the ancient pines, which confide secrets in their tender shivering.
Yet the forest holds more than just echoes. It offers a labyrinth of thought, where one can wander and find solace in the cryptic tongue of the ever-watchful trees.
Encoded within their sinewed limbs lies a history—thoughts traceable as root to soil, story to teller. The soft language of wood and wind courses through me as streams over stones, guiding me quietly onward.
Perhaps, this journey connects to another: towards Roots: Soliloquy or away, perhaps onward to Branches: Echo. Whichever path is chosen will be understood by the tree whose shadow I stand under now.