The forest hums a resonance, a symphony of silent sighs. How do branches weave truths beneath the bark? The sky, a canopy of forgotten dreams, watches. Roots speak the underground language of endless time. When did whispers become echoes? The sap runs like a river of memories carved through eternity.
Tangled thoughts—like ivy—around the mind's ancient oak. Leaves know the secrets of shadow and light, their dialogues coded in fluorescence. Sunlight dances on the forest floor, a pattern of fleeting revelations. Cortex to canopy, the mind maps the symbiotic soul's journey. In every ring of time, a truth lies, waiting to be unearthed by those who can hear the trees’ language.