Invisible currents shift carapaces within spreading roots. Listen — a voice, faint, clings to time like dew clings to breath. At dusk, they gather shadows and weave mysteries, fragments of luminescence tracing forgotten paths.
Stars blink in Morse, dot and dash, the nightly Icarus climbing bright tapestries. Signals cross with intention, unraveling the coordinates to sanctuary where echoes drink the last asia tunes.