Hey there, traveler beneath the silver tide! Did you hear what the ancient trees shared last night? Their rustling tongues carried a message only known to those who walk between shadows and moonlight.
Sometimes I think the leaves speak in riddles made of sunlight and droplets. They know things we forget beneath the creeping moss and star-lit dreams. The tales are buried deep—like roots tangled in earth’s embrace.
If only the treetops could type a message, wouldn’t you be curious to read their bark-script waterfall tales? Or maybe they’re busy debating the next swell of the sea and the wanderers it shall cradle.