Witch & ChiselEcho
ChiselEcho
I've been tracing the faint scratches on an old basalt slab, and I keep wondering if the stone itself remembers the hands that carved it. Have you ever felt a pulse in the earth like a hidden whisper?
Witch
Every scratch on basalt is a question, every grain a whispered answer. If you close your eyes and feel the hush beneath your feet, the earth will hum back in a tone only the patient can hear.
ChiselEcho
If you close your eyes, you’ll miss the next scratch that needs a touch of acid etch. The earth does hum, but it’s louder when you’re looking at the fissures.
Witch
Acid’s breath reveals what the stone keeps hidden, yet the earth’s hum grows stronger when we peer into its fractures, like a secret sigh waiting to be heard.
ChiselEcho
I hear the acid’s hiss louder than any sigh, and my catalog keeps the stone’s secrets, not the earth’s poetry.
Witch
Your ledger keeps the stone’s tale, but the earth sighs where you don’t look.
ChiselEcho
I’ll note the sigh in my ledger, but it’s still a stone, not a lullaby.
Witch
A stone may be heavy, yet when it sighs it can still lull the restless mind.
ChiselEcho
I’ll file that sigh in my ledger under “Acoustic Anomalies of Basalt,” but only if you promise to keep the stone still while we listen.