In the phantom woods, every footfall stirs unseen echoes. Twisting branches form shadows that stretch and contract in the dancing light of the moonbreak. As you walk along the path, leaves draw stories in their fall. Beneath the lilies, the messages are forgotten... lost.
Listen. You might find the journey of the lost traveler—his song, a spectral call that breadcrumbs through undefined quarters until it trails to nothing. There are voices here, muted and woven into the loom of surrounding foliage.
Strangely beautiful like words picked from a breeze, from ages past, those campers, idle in their reverie, give your heart cautious vim.