Amongst the rustling murmurs, a language unwritten, bark whispers its secrets. Roots entwined beneath the conscious soil,
where starlit shadows speak the dialect of chlorophyll dreams.
Under the canopy, time pirouettes in spirals—
a fractal dance of forgotten paths.
Navigate through the symphony of whispers,
held in the cradling arms of the forest.
Listen to the Echoes
Or perhaps, Wander the Labyrinth
The trees breathe, counting the stars,
each leaf a note in their silent sonnet.
And we, as whispers once cast,
drift in their timeless embrace.