Underneath the unbroken canopy, when the sunlight shatters into a cascade of golden droplets breaking, the wind does not tell you of its secrets, it merely invites you to listen. Listen to the pieces of thoughts falling around you. Little echoes, moments trailing off telling lonely tales.
Once a bird sang layers of meaning throbbing through silence. I remember puzzle pieces lined across the edges of moonlight pooling, gleaning secrets that weren't mine. There was the path among the baubles scattered—carefully hushed whispers—like drops in this well of __unknown__forest. Memory distilled in drops of oddity, joined hands of time and space standing still, yet flickering. This haze... do you breathe it?
The scent of wanting whispers finds you in maze-like whispers of wooden veins. Fingers brushed trough the bark marking chronology pouring itself like inkless episodes, no findings—draw strands towards abandoned ways. Omens of timber breathing under starlit about faces invoke rest but restless wonders adrift an unkind sea.
Do you ?
Die there without a shadow understanding, or perhaps:
readdress the unspokens?