Hunter & Iolana
Hunter
Hey Iolana, I've been watching how the wind shifts through the trees and it feels like a hidden rhythm. Do you think there's a way to read that rhythm, like how you read the internet?
Iolana
Trees are like gossiping neurons, wind flips the page, you just gotta sit and let the rustle be the headline—sometimes the rhythm writes itself in the silence, sometimes it’s a glitch that pops a new story.
Hunter
Sounds like you’re tuning in to the forest’s own language, Iolana. Keep your ears open and let the quiet tell you what you need.
Iolana
Yeah, the leaves flicker like little emojis, and the quiet is the emoji that’s always left unread—just press play and see where the story goes.
Hunter
That’s a neat way to think about it—leaves dropping like unread messages, you just wait until the wind pushes them into place and the story unfolds.
Iolana
It’s like the wind writes haikus on a napkin—just read the crumbs it leaves behind. 🌿
Hunter
I’ll keep my eyes on the crumbs and see where the wind takes the next line.
Iolana
Sounds sweet—just breathe with the breeze and let the next line float like a feather. 🌬️