As tendrils of mist unfurl at dawn, gently weaving them into tales of yore, we listen to the whispers shared between leaves and lost echoes. Each moment, a fractal of possibility, vanishing before the canopy of tomorrow solidifies its shadow.
The spiral whispers its truths—not as a path to follow, but as a reflection of those thoughts we forget. We are symbiosis, bound to the moonlit glades, stepwise refracting inwards through shadows we only see from the periphery.