Sverchkoslav & Isla
Sverchkoslav Sverchkoslav
Isla Isla
Sverchkoslav Sverchkoslav
Did you ever notice how the first light of dawn turns the leaves into a quiet, shifting poem, each tiny shard of amber and green telling a story you can almost hear? I spent the morning watching that, and it felt like the forest was trying to whisper something only a quiet observer would catch.
Isla Isla
Yes, I’ve felt the forest humming that way too, like it’s holding a secret in the hush of the first light. I love how those quiet moments make the world seem gentler, almost as if the trees are sharing a quiet story with whoever will listen.
Sverchkoslav Sverchkoslav
It’s funny, but sometimes I think the trees just love being the quiet ones in a world that never stops talking. Maybe they’re holding a secret, maybe it’s just the wind. Either way, I’ll keep listening.
Isla Isla
I think there’s a quiet dignity in that stillness, a gentle rebellion against the clamor. Listening to the trees feels like finding a pocket of calm in a noisy world, and maybe that’s the secret they hold.
Sverchkoslav Sverchkoslav
It’s true, the trees keep their dignity, while we keep shouting. I’ll stay quiet and listen, just in case they finally decide to say something.