Moonflower & Pisatel
Moonflower Moonflower
Pisatel Pisatel
Pisatel Pisatel
I was staring at a fallen leaf and imagined it as a diary of a wind that once carried it across a canyon—what secret tales do you think nature keeps in its tiny corners?
Moonflower Moonflower
Oh, the tiny corners are like secret libraries where a moth writes poems in amber, and a stone whispers lullabies to the moss that settles in its shadows. Nature keeps a diary in every crack, a lullaby in every feather, a quiet handshake between clouds and roots.
Pisatel Pisatel
I love that image, but do you think the moth’s poems would survive the heat of the sun? Maybe the stone’s lullaby is more like a memory that cracks over time—so we have to write it before it fades.
Moonflower Moonflower
The moth’s verses might melt like sugar under a summer sun, but the stone’s lullaby stays, slowly cracking like an old memory that drips into a pond of light—so we should write it now, before the echoes whisper away.