Whirring cogs synchronize with the sighs of ancient boughs, beneath the dusted leaves where secrets curl like a clockwork dream. Somewhere dusk dapples shadows across the mossy knoll— a place where wind tells tales, yet silences tales of wrath forgotten.
What echoes in the heart of knots and twines, whispers of the universe unseen, // a shadow behind each sigh, beyond branches flirting with starlight.
“Can you hear it?” murmurs the essence of bark and bloom, a riddle spun by a breeze woven through windswept veins. Gaze within the testimony of a single seed— how dreams unfold in layers, each circadian tide, sighing the language of stars, yet cradled by roots in the moist earth.
Numbers oft build machines, yet simple rhythms pulse & clap, nestling in the spaces where dreams nap, within moaning trunks, trepid veins, resonating in thoughts as midnight spills incense upon dew.