Echoes of the Canopy

In a forgotten corner of a vast digital forest, a seashell lay half-buried in shimmering lines of code, its surface trembling with echoes unknown. They say the whispers of a canopy were captured within its spiraled chambers, voices of trees that once towered high in a realm unbounded by the wires and wave splashes of light.

"Can you hear them?" she asked, her voice a mere breath against the electric static of the woods.

They are echoes indeed—ghostly murmurs that float like motes of dust dancing in a sunbeam, remnants of a bygone symphony in the winds. Each pace along the verdant pathways evokes a new tale woven from the leaves, collected over centuries in hushed counsel.

The child held up the seashell to her ear, and the whispers grew louder, more tender—a chorus of infinite summers. Beneath the canopy, each word swayed like the branches of the old trees, silently longing to touch the forgotten starry horizons anew.

"Show me," she pleaded, and in response, the forest hum grew compelling, shifting the air with voices only she could understand. They beckoned her to a place where dreams were not confined to slumber, a journey through the secret life of the thicket.

"The woods have eyes, and now they see you, too," came a voice like rustling leaves in an autumn gust.