When branches cough rain, their words shimmer. Treetops stitch sky-words into looms of bark — a language your heart understands less by decoding and more through earthing steps.
A squirrel’s chatter is like a gently bubbling brook; transitory sounds that cling to the flutter of your interest. Just when you think the breeze has told you everything, it pivots north, carrying verses you're to faintly interpolate.
Follow the butterflies. They aren't late, but neither are they early. Just as moisture dances lightly on undulating petals, you're learning to breathe as the green does - with an ever-so-slight timing offset. That's how the codex keeps unlocking.