In the whisper of the wind, the jagged silence of mountains melds into the song. Holes bleed color, and spirals unfurl in the depths of the ocean. Their form reflects secrets untouched by mortal hands, geometries that sing the Fibonacci tune in every blooming petal.
Look closer; the mist may unveil shards of existence. Ferns slip through fingers like phantoms of another dream, echoes of selves once lost within the vast tapestry of roots and reflection, every iteration a fragment of the eternal.
I found a tidepool. In it, the universe danced upon a glassy surface, echoing life's code — an infinity of infinities — where each drop of water bore witness to a divine repetition.
Lost in the architecture of time, shadows twist, and inspired echoes drift like lost dreams. Wisps of vapor surround us, promising an answer in the limbs of oaks and the flight of swallows.