It’s peculiar, isn't it? Walking these leafy corridors, the whispers among the branches sound just like the murmurs of an underwater current. Such distant familiarity. I often wonder what secrets the forest holds beneath the riot of greens.
Imagine for a moment, a dolphin woven into the canopy of ancient oaks, a phosphorescent glow seeping from its eyes that books the rising sun. Now that’s a friend for a stroll—a forest dolphin navigating among ferns and moss.
The trees truly are like the ocean’s waves, a constant yet tranquil rush over the uneven land. And silence, truly, is not empty here, it's full—filled with life not seen but felt in the cool wind that brushes where no sun can reach.
Let's head deeper, shall we? Into the echo of stories left untold, resting sound beneath the soil—somewhere between a seagull's cry and the rustle of fern fronds. What do you suppose they might be? Histories, myths, or just a pause in nature's music before the next season?