Amidst the whispering fog, where the sun forgets to shine, the trails lead nowhere, or everywhere, depending on the heart’s compass. Am I lost, or have I found a piece of forgotten myself? The trees, they know my name, yet never speak, their branches weave tales in silence.
Endless paths, looped shadows, returning echoes, never-ending, always beginning, softly spoken secrets, hidden beneath layers of leaf and time. Do you hear them too, the voices of the forest, calling softly, urging gently, to follow, to trace the lines of destiny carved in the soil?
Paths like these, they whisper truths, half-remembered dreams wrapped in twilight’s embrace. Here, where the deer tread softly, and the air shimmers with unseen wonders, I find a weary solace. Will the dawn break this spell, or will the dusk trap me here forever?