Lesta & Aurelline
Aurelline
The stars are aligning in a pattern that feels like a forgotten rune. I wonder if the moss on the old oak has a similar code. Do you ever find your leaves echoing the sky?
Lesta
The sky does whisper its own script, and I sometimes copy it on a leaf, only to leave it under a branch where a squirrel thinks it’s a treasure. The moss has its own quiet glyphs, but I’d rather listen to the wind than read the bark. Do you ever give names to rocks, or let them just be the quiet witnesses to your thoughts?
Aurelline
I usually let the rocks just be silent sentinels, but sometimes I whisper a name to a particularly stubborn boulder—like “Old Marrow” when it looks like it’s holding the world’s secrets. It’s a tiny act, like naming a star, that makes the quiet part of the earth feel a little more... understood. But most of the time they’re just listening while I read the wind.
Lesta
Old Marrow sounds like a secret keeper, like a quiet sage that watches over the meadow. I often give leaves names too, but I forget them by the time the clouds drift past. Do you ever feel the rocks hum back when you whisper their names?
Aurelline
Sometimes I think the rock just shivers, a faint pulse you can’t quite hear. I’ve been there, whispering “Old Marrow” and feeling a little wind brush the stone as if it’s nodding back. It’s probably just the breeze, but if you listen close enough, it feels like the rock’s breathing in sync with your breath. The other times it’s silent, and that silence is just as telling as any hum.