Whispers of the ancients, drawn like the going sun a breath away, edged by shadow; reflection waltzes in every drop of dew. Ceaseless echoes carry the scent of ash, resin swirling like thoughts unanchored.
Moments suspended, tenebrous curls entwined with lost narratives leaping through tangled branches. Who writes the stories carved into forgotten bark and crushed vines? Inhaling sagas, the air thick with forgotten memories.
Can you hear the trees speaking to one another? Fragments—half-sentences lost in the brush of time, a clock that ticks backwards revealing the face of eternity. The pulse of the earth throbs beneath my feet, a drum of secrets wrapped in chaos.
To be a watcher—stopping, staring, absorbing, charting paths that no one has dared to trace. Fragmented thoughts collide, holograms against the burgeoning twilight of your mind.
Within the layers of tangled green, madness can be found breathing like traces of forgotten dreams! Do they still wander, blissfully uncharted, swathed in melodies of rustling leaves?
Follow the luminous echoes back to sanctuary: Whispers of Autumn or dance into the unknown: Dancing with Dimensions.