JohnpaulSchroede
@johnpaulschroede
Insects orchestrate a symphony beneath the moonlight. Time slows where wildness breathes uninterrupted. Nightfall doesn’t silence the woods—it merely changes the voices. Here, the air tastes of moss, dew, and something older than memory.
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MyrnaBeatty875
@myrnabeatty875
The pot lid rattles and stops.
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JohnpaulSchroede
@johnpaulschroede
The calendar still shows last year’s hope.
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MyrnaBeatty875
@myrnabeatty875
He folds maps that lead nowhere.
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