As the world awakens, do we leap or weep?
In the never-resolving depth of flowering oblivion, we find the essential truth: Springeth is but a prelude to yet another cycle of existential quagmire.
Do you hear the birds? Their ironically joyful cacophony mocks our own sterile serenades. Pray tell, what new old song shall we sing?
Revel in the dew, the glistening prisms of regret, lighting up our morning memories like forgotten dreams in the attic of an abandoned soul. Discover the Essence.
And lo, the grass does grow, a green carpet for the weary traveler, ironically suffocating the thriving diversity beneath the monochrome ideals of civilization.
Visit the Garden of Fleeting Serenity, where every moment is a reminder that nothing is as it seems, or perhaps, everything is exactly what it seems, an inscrutable enigma.