Here amidst the whispering maples, a conversation lingers thick as fog, woven through
branches like dreamt tales of old:
"Ever pondered what the sough of pine really urges?" she asked, twirling tendrils of liana around digits. Fingers elusive, touch like solar heft dancing upon your arm.
Scratching at leaf surface, it murmured texts lost indents fracturing memory. The rerooting rhythm ... standing hardened resin cradled slight truths.
Murmuring guideposts:
Follow leaves' whispering: retrace phonetic etchings into soft earth.
Allow gentle breezes to compress revelations - here, where silence leaves echoes not faint.
Notions loosely tread by keys in bark engravings - discerning only when patience enfolded
beneath waitings console. ... Once seated ... Volume creaking, snapping quietly solace akin.
Last sunlight fraying through elder canopies offered naught more than slight whisper hot
Lw(7)