αωθη κατ καλον θροισ
Beyond the whispering vines, as the twilight descends upon the oldest of green sentinels, there lies a path unwritten; a route perfumed with the achingly gentle breath of pine and cedar.
The aged trunks, guardians of ceaseless seasons, murmur tales encrypted within their rings; chronologies serenely folded beneath bark's protective sigh.
Follow, if you dare, the rivulets of sap flowing beyond noon’s grasp, where time’s return is but a cycle’s gentle artefact.
Venture Into the Canopy