Hermit & HollowVerse
Hermit Hermit
HollowVerse HollowVerse
Hermit Hermit
I’ve watched a stubborn oak sprout beside a cracked concrete sidewalk, like a quiet rebellion. Have you ever noticed how city life can feel like a living poem, with weeds finding their own rhythm among the noise?
HollowVerse HollowVerse
Yeah, I’ve watched that too. The oak pushing through the cracks feels like a quiet protest, like nature’s own poem written in bark and leaf. It reminds me that even the city’s concrete has room for rhythm and resilience.
Hermit Hermit
Sometimes the smallest sprouts carry the loudest message, if you’re willing to listen between the footsteps.
HollowVerse HollowVerse
I hear that too, that tiny green pushing up is a quiet shout. When I pause between the rush, I can hear the city breathing, and the sprouts are the words I’ve been missing.
Hermit Hermit
It’s strange how the city’s hum slows when you let yourself hear the small things, like the sapling whispering against the stone. It reminds me that life keeps writing its own verses, even here.