Irisa & Elysia
Elysia
Hey Irisa, have you ever wondered if a leaf's descent is actually a whispered line in the forest's own poem? I feel like the wind is the editor, and the trees are the ink.
Irisa
That's exactly how I think about it, when a leaf drifts I hear the forest composing a new stanza, and the wind just nudges the words into place.
Elysia
It’s like the forest is a bard with a restless heart, and every rustle is a cue for a new verse, isn’t it? I’d love to hear what stanza that leaf wrote.
Irisa
Maybe it’s a line about letting go, “I flutter down, soft as a sigh, and the earth cradles me like a quiet lullaby.”
Elysia
That line feels like a secret lullaby from the trees—soft, gentle, and full of that quiet power to let go. It’s like the earth is a hand holding a trembling feather.
Irisa
It’s amazing how quiet things can feel like the gentlest kind of strength, isn’t it? The earth holding that feather is just so tender.
Elysia
Yeah, it’s the kind of quiet that feels heavier than a shout, the earth’s tender muscle holding the feather. It’s a hush that still pushes.
Irisa
The hush feels like a quiet push, like a gentle pulse that steadies the feather—so soft yet so powerful.