Echoes of Shadow Woods

Beneath the canopy, whispers of forgotten winds meet the ear — a symphony unsung, unwritten, yet deeply familiar. Every step in the shadowed woods summons an echo of self, tugging at threads of what was, what could have been. Remember the old tree? Its gnarled hands marked time, silently chronicling our lost summers.

Shadows that dance in sunlight filter questions unasked. I tread paths woven with dust and dew, teetering on the brink of memory and oblivion. Often, I imagine the woods have voices, hidden among ivy and bark, speaking in riddles only time may unravel. Have you heard them?