The forest whispers to itself in shadows and ripples of light.
"Are we yet at the leaves' end?"
A moss-covered stair, leading upwards, replied, "Endings are invisible without beginnings, friend."
"Dreams tread softly upon this path," murmured the ancient oak.
"Their footsteps weigh nothing," answered the patterned bark, "for gravity does not bind them."
I walked on hollows paved with stars, without pressing their brilliance. My journey was not tread in feet, but in thoughts unfurling like leafy promises.
To tread the stairs, click here or let your mind float to another whisper...