
When the forests grow silent, and humans finally hear themselves again
When the noise fades, we meet our own echoes among the trees. The silence isn't empty
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Beneath the soil, seeds whisper about another day
about another dayIn the quiet dark, life hums beneath our forgetting.
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The language of rain on fragile glass
There are places that refuse to be mapped — not because they're far
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The weight of light in endless fields
Ashes speak of warmth once shared. Destruction, too, has a strange tenderness.
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Listening to the earth between great storms
here's wisdom in the quiet before the sky breaks open.
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Listening to the earth between great storms
here's wisdom in the quiet before the sky breaks open.
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