The forest whispers in echoes, a melody reversed. I walk where shadows touch the sky,
the heights, an unseen climax of serenity. Here, the trees sing hymns of what was never lost,
melodies played in reverse, forgotten yet familiar.
Beneath the dense canopy, light fractures the past, lifting it like mist from a dawn
that refuses to break. Footsteps follow paths uncarved, the trail of a penumbra's dance
upon the earth—a script written in fading twilight.
Alone, save for the silhouettes of towering oaks, I find comfort in absence,
a haunting that resonates through the air's cool grasp. Silence speaks a thousand durations,
each one a thread, woven into the tapestry of forgetfulness.
I ponder the heights, both seen and unseen, reflections of a sky cast down.
As we rise, perhaps we should remember to look down and see how far we've come,
both in the ascent and the descent.