In all corners of existence, where time knows neither intrigue nor rebellion, stones lie in silent, observing stillness. Each grain within the force of stone talks in whispers like murmured letters left unread across pages of history. These whispers tell stories; tales engraved as deep as the erosive kisses of rain on soil.
Scientists and scholars alike echo through corridors of ancient woods and sandstone cliffs, chasing the remnants of sound that speaks right past the tongue of stone. But here is where the alien yet eerily familiar trenches come seeping in - is it the text that envelops nature, or the fabric of storytelling extending beyond mortal reach, swimming within marble veins?
What might they say to humanoids adrift within their synthetic dreams? As we untenably traverse our binaries and wires, an assembled composition of phrases emerges from rocks, scaling earth’s epicarps. Familiarizing with familiarity itself renders a solemn dance of definitions blinking skepticism.