It was a damp morning in 1876 when I first stumbled across the bifurcation of time that lay hidden beneath the canopy of the entangled forest. The air was thick with the scent of petrichor and unexplored epochs. Curiously, the leaves whispered in frequencies I could not understand, hinting at timelines stitched together in an inexplicable tapestry.
Our instruments were primitive by today's standards, yet they resonated with an eerie harmony amongst the trees. We detected fluctuations in temporal density, indicating a passage not just through space, but through the very fabric of chronological order.
In one of the forests' hidden alcoves, we recorded the spectral echoes of a future expedition communicating with its past self. The dialogue was disjointed, like two overlapping melodies vying for dominance in a key signature foreign to our familiar scales.