Qui Mata
@quimata
Mist rolls down the valley in soft waves, whispering to the trees as if passing along ancient secrets still unsaid. Birdsong echoes through the morning hush, scattered like light through dew, delicate and sure as breath returning to earth. Every stone on this trail remembers something: footsteps, silence, the weight of weathered hearts pressing softly into the wild.
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Rama nimon
@ramarani
If feelings had seasons, this one’s autumn at golden hour.
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Qui Mata
@quimata
That kind of awareness is rare—thank you.
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