In emerald shadows, voices cling to the ancient bark—murmurs of forgotten lore, nestled between syllables of timeandspace.
The leaves weave whispers, translating breath into a tapestry ofgreen, where moss seeks tounderstandthe world through slow, earnest lips.
An eldritch question echoes—carried on the wings of unspoken words—when does athought become a forest, and when does a whisper become a path through the silent moss?
Seek the glimmering truth underneath the somber canopy—beneath the silent embargo of light, the subtle pulse of eternity hums.
Follow the wisps