Among the echoes of the ancients, a rhythm dwells. Silent harbinger of tales untold,
it whispers through the foliate shroud, weaving webs of time's tapestry.
Columned, like the balmy sway of a thousand winds, it finds its resonant tone.
Pulse, once lost, seeks the dance—an eternal return, not to the forgotten, but to the becoming.
The ether released a sigh, caught in circular loops of thought, tracing arcs of stars.
When the heart speaks, will you understand the language carved in breath and infinity? Lost travelers, find refuge here: Whisper or Trace your own resonance.