Like a sapling in the soil, rooting thoughts take hold, push through the floor of intent to reach upward towards illumination. Among these thoughts, some leaves green with newness, some brown with the wisdom of age.
The forest around me is a structure of ideas. First, the trunk: firm, holding strong, a single thought that gives rise to all others. Then branches stretch, fracturing as they grow, each piece a consideration of how things connect, diverge, become new entities of their own.
The trees tell stories, whispering not with sound but through the tracing of where one path no longer suffices, and another begins anew.
Wander on through the murmuring streams, or perhaps linger beneath the gentle canopy where shadows speak, hushed tones that pull at memories lost to the winds of timepast.