In the woodland shadows, voices drift
Fleeting words of emerald dreams
"The roots remember, the soil whispers,"
said the old oak, grumbling softly.

Here, reality bends like light through amber
A serene chaos of wind and echo
Where doubts are mirrored in glades of tranquility
and the truth is found in silence.
Travel further on wind-carved paths:
Running Spring
Moondance Whispers