Today the forest path is wide open, festooned with mist and shadows, laced with the hushed whisperings of the trees, humming the secret song of a blue heart.
I woke up and I wasn’t sure I did because a trail of a dream still drags behind me all tangled up with my soul threads invisible silent light like nothing but blinding deafening weighted with impossible hope.
Hello. Who are you? Are you someone new? Someone who was something else? Someone who has been here all along? I keep seeing traces of you, hints and clues, unfinished questions, cast in the wind of the Dreaming. Never a word, only a hope, and the markings of a blue heart.
STORIES are what happen in the Impossible Garden & the Wildforest. They are the overheard conversations, the gossip of the flowers and the trees, the fragments written on bones and stones. They are the secrets whispered by the wind, the tales of the stars, the knowledge earned or traded with the forest dwellers. They are the fairy tales that had been forgotten or never told. They are the rules and the history and how they are repeatedly broken and rewritten. They are the murmurings of magic, the language of hidden love, the wildness beneath every order and the pattern beneath every chaos. They are truths and they are lies and in the end they are real to those who have the heart to see.
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