Eaves whisper secrets, varnished in bark. Lingua arboris clandestine et cryptarum: Roots bridge messages along the mycorrhizal web—the ancient scroll of the forest's blind language.
Sap-rivers loop narratives around moons unseen. As branches study the light, they fold open the codex written in shadows.
Grape-vines echo foliage's prayer, each node capturing a tale only told when autumn fires languish. Paths not dictated by compass, but through phloem and xylem maps.
Whisper your name to ignite the silent canopy; each consonant a cauldron, each vowel a sprout. The zebra of night's essence writes bark-notes before the closing day. Kindle the whisper.
Follow the concealed trail...