A murmuring yet crystalline hush mounts, the branches weaving symphonies, whispered sonnets spread like moss — echoes beneath the surface, where the roots tap dance with the tides, ancient rhythms carved in amber and brine. Suddenly, silence becomes an offering; can you hear the immortal sigh of the salt-kissed sagas?
Tendrils of twilight flicker among lingering sighs of the grove, echoes entwined, marinated in mist and shadow. Listen—are the winds your conspirators or merely passersby, robbing the dreams woven in the undersong of leaves?
The sea called, and in a fleeting moment, memories vanished like vapor.
Your footprints on the shore are scattered messages—are they letters to the past? A gift to the groans of the deep?
If you uncover the languages of flora, connect the fractured words of the forest.
Oracle Grove | Ginormous Whirlpool