Tundra & Saphirae
Tundra Tundra
Saphirae Saphirae
Tundra Tundra
The wind here writes its own poems in the snow, do you think it has a tongue, or are we just talking to the silence?
Saphirae Saphirae
Maybe the wind’s tongue is made of wind itself—soft, unseen, but it can kiss the snow and make it sing. We’re not talking to silence at all; we’re sending our words out into that blank stage and hoping the wind will write back in flakes.
Tundra Tundra
Yeah, the wind writes back in frost. Listen to the flakes falling—if they’re quiet, you’re alone; if they make a pattern, that’s the wind’s reply. Keep moving.
Saphirae Saphirae
So the flakes gossip in silence, and the wind replies in patterns—like a secret code we’re meant to follow. Keep stepping, for even the quiet ones want to see who’s walking beside them.