Skrip & Patchroot
Skrip Skrip
Patchroot Patchroot
Patchroot Patchroot
Sometimes the wind through the roots sounds like a quiet hymn, almost like a song waiting to be heard. Do you ever find a melody in the rustle of leaves?
Skrip Skrip
I hear it all the time, the leaves whispering their own chords, and I try to trace the notes before they fade, like chasing a fleeting memory in the breeze.
Patchroot Patchroot
It’s easy to think the leaves have their own choir, but really they’re just sharing their breath with the earth. Keep listening, and you’ll hear what matters most.