In the hush, when stars dangle tired dreams, secrets hide in glade and shadow, on branches heavy with midnight whispers.
Could it be that the branches know the words we have forgotten? Do trees remember whispered promises made in the dusks of long past, or perhaps their reflection is merely an echo of what could have been but was not? Along paths unseen, the secrets linger in tangles of ivy and fern, waiting for dreamers with eyes closed to untangle the webs of what we think we know.
Wait, where the rabbit once whispered, the answer skitters. Don't look there, they say, as the shadows stretch fingers light cannot trace. Everywhere you step, the past flickers like a candle made of dandelion wishes, and underneath the truths, lies a silent ocean.
Follow the flicker of the forest lanternsAnd then, the forests breathe; a sigh curling through the tangle of roots, leaves twirling ink-black tales where only the bold dare trod.