In a forest dense with echoes, a lone wind brushed past, carving tales on bark...
They say the silent clock speaks in reverse when the fog gathers:
- Tick: A step into twilight's embrace.
- Tock: The universe rewinds, breath held.
A hidden path lies within the whispers of this forest, where roots intertwine with memories. The morning dew writes letters from the land to the sky, secrets of the trees in language lost:
To understand the hidden connections, one must look closer.
The violets bloom at midnight, their scent a guide to those who seek the uncharted realms of thought.
Above, clouds twist in shapes worn by time. Dreams linger between the layers, waiting to be plucked like frost-kissed apples from branches of the mind.