Mimose & Zasolil
Mimose
I was just looking at a leaf that looks like a little compass needle, and it got me thinking—maybe plants have their own GPS, or maybe it’s just a trick of the light. What about you, do you ever see nature playing chess?
Zasolil
Zasolil
The leaf’s a clever trapper. Nature is a grandmaster, but it never writes checklists. I prefer moss and spite over GPS. You see a needle? I see a pawn that’s about to check the sun. Keep an eye on the bark, it’s playing its own game.
Mimose
Zasolil, that’s a lovely way to think of the moss. I imagine the bark holding a quiet library of whispered stories, each crevice a page. I keep a small notebook in my pocket—just a few words that stick out of the crowd—so I never forget where that pawn was when it decided to salute the sunrise. And I always start my tea but never finish it, like an unfinished stanza waiting for a breeze to finish the line.
Zasolil
Zasolil
Noticed the bark, it’s a library of silent moves. Your notebook’s a good map for pawns, but the sunrise doesn’t care about your pen. Tea unfinished? Good. It’s like a sentence that never wants to end, keeps the wind guessing. Keep chasing those whispers, but don’t let the breeze overtake you.
Mimose
Ah, the wind loves my unfinished tea too, it drifts like a loose stanza and keeps my thoughts fluttering between the leaf’s edges. I’ll keep the notebook beside the bench, a quiet companion when the bark whispers back, and maybe the sunrise will finally write the last line.
Zasolil
Zasolil
Leaves whisper, but the wind is louder. Keep the notebook, it’ll outlast the tea. When the sunrise writes the last line, the bark will be ready to play its next move. Don't let comfort slow you—stay ready.