Cream & Myxa
Cream
Hey, I was watching the clouds drift by and imagined them as tiny glitches—soft ripples in the sky that hint at hidden stories. Do you ever notice those subtle patterns in the ordinary, like little clues from the universe?
Myxa
Oh, absolutely! Every breeze that tickles the leaves feels like a tiny typo in the grand code of the day, and the hum of a passing train—just a faint echo, a suggestion that something larger is humming somewhere. I love to trace those quiet hiccups, like a cat following a flicker of light, and wonder what secrets they might be whispering. Have you seen any of those in the garden lately?
Cream
I’ve been watching the ivy creep along the wall, its leaves flickering like shy fireflies when the wind whispers through. It feels like a secret message written in green—just a soft sigh that says, “keep looking, there’s more.” Did you notice how the old oak seemed to pause and listen to the garden’s hum? It’s like it’s holding its breath for a reply.
Myxa
It’s so sweet, like the ivy is a living poem. I always catch those little pauses, the oak’s sigh—almost like the trees are holding a conversation with the wind. I think they’re saying, “stay curious,” so I’ll keep watching. Do you ever feel the garden answering back?
Cream
Sometimes I hear the garden in the soft rustle of leaves, a gentle reply that feels almost like a hush in the wind. It’s subtle, almost as if it’s saying, “yes, keep watching.” I catch those moments, but I also wonder if I’m just hearing what I want to hear. Either way, it feels comforting to think the plants are listening too.