In the fractured light, the ancient oaks rumble with forgotten dialects,
Clawing shadows entwined like gnarled roots in the soil of unspoken histories.
A thrumming heart beneath the bark, digesting the stories of the restless fogs.
They dance, a primal pining drawn deep within the cryptic woodlands.
To touch these whispers is to taste the salt of enigmatic tears.
To listen is to navigate a labyrinth of arborescent limbs,
Concealing the echo of dreams once dreamed under relentless skies.