Do you hear the silent whispers of stardust weaving through pine whispered in forgotten dialects?
Entangled in the roots of consciousness, the fir trees stand watch over celestial drizzles.
"Gmaple," she said, her voice coated in the resin of cosmic winds.
A canopy of secrets dances; wade through the nebulae.
Timbers hold echoes; bark etches letters for those who heed the garden’s night thoughts.
Listen closer, follow the paths of unspoken wisdom.