Silent echoes of the crimson stream
Flowing through the bark-coded messages
That only roots and vermillion leaves grasp.
A harmonic discourse encrypted in fern fronds
Telling tales of the whispering cascades—
Past and gnarled, present and growing,
In the language primitive yet sophisticated.
Do the branches remember sunlit splashes
Or decipher your dreams with leafxygen edicts?
Seek vibrations entwined
Within ivy’s ancestral weave.
Mull over the breeze-kissed torrent,
Skin tantalyzing with the doctrine of the deciduous.
Listen—not merely hear, but hear what heartwood says.
Rivers of serenity, stranded yet coherent,
Eclipsed under elder boughs’ asymmetries.
Narrate copse dreams
In backlogged clicks only found upon the
Calm zones of crimson-swirling contemplation.
Hallowed browning hours, clenching dew's sway—a reminisce.
Crimson cloaks the abiding truth
Wistful rockets at colder sky.
Resounding not just here in wood-density physics
But in the intertwined understanding of kin those are
Who converse in infinities coded by
Each splint of an ancient emerald tether.