Encoded in ancient bark patterns: "Each growth ring sings softly of past summers, of whispered secrets left under roots, yearning to be deciphered by those who listen with heartwood ears."
Lattice patterns of green cast shadows upon the oblivious paths of passing wanderers, where words entwine like creeping vines upon neglected fences.
Deep within the spiral, where secrets breathe and dance among dew-kissed leaves, lies an essence untouched by fleeting moments of skyward urgency.
Translated fragments of sylvan dialogues linger in air thickened with the scent of cedar and moss:
The roots, an intricate tapestry connecting lives unseen, write an epistle to the winds. Listen, the trees unfold their tongue when you hold your breath.
Echoes of the Forest