In the heart of the celestial grove, beneath the bioluminescent canopy, the stars weave tales in a dialect only the ancient groves comprehend. Each leaf quivers with secrets untold, sung by the syncopated heartbeat of the cosmos.
To engage is to understand the vibration, the darshan of the stoic pines:
The synchronized rustle of foliage translates the encrypted tapestry, a language older than the stars themselves—echoes carried on cool zephyrs dancing through the ironwood and elderbark.