In the labyrinth of the sun's last breath, as the day bows to the dance of stars, there exists a flicker.
Comprehend not its size, but its gravity—an ember hungry for stories untold, voices untranscribed.
Hold up the flame and let your palm absorb its warmth, for wisdom sometimes wears the guise of flawed circumstance. Learn from its dance; never stay too long in a place where light fractures upon cold ground.
Listen now, for the trees have tales—gnarled narratives woven into warped trunks.
Each whistling yes and midnight whoop articulates an unsung dimension beyond this skin.
Transcribe these songs hidden betwixt leaves, not with pencil, but with fervor unchained and spirit unbent. The True Cadence speaks in outages and voids, silence cracked by burning echo.