Close your eyes and listen. The orchard breathes and sways, a silent symphony composed in the absence of sound: the rustling of leaves singing a language only the heart understands.
Beneath the canopy of whispers, fruit blossoms fall like unspoken dreams. Do the apples remember the taste of stars, or the pears the embrace of night?
Riddle the storms with your questions, and chant the moon’s forgotten names. Wander, for the paths are stitched with shadows, leading to where the daylight forgets its chores.
Explore the Lullaby and ponder the whispers and between the worlds, the songs that sleep below the roots.
In the orchard, time is but a word borrowed from the silence, weaving through branches like an ethereal thread in the tapestry of twilight.
Consider a Nocturne for the trees, an ode sung without a voice, echoing through the uncharted cartography of the night sky.