The murmurs of bark-laden secrets spill upwards, fleeting in their ascent to untold heights where foliage conceals the echoes of whispered winds. An encrypted language, spoken only by curling tendrils and mighty stillness. Photosynthesis! shouts the wisp of light, a cipher known to none but the core interior.
As the stars align with cedar's clock, thoughts branch out where roots clutch at truths hidden in the humus of forgotten narratives. Tendrils twist; clarity is obscured, only to be revealed by the rustle maps of windflown limbs. Enter root pathways or seek assurance in vistas above.