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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Stracke
@rubyreb
The broom finds the same corner every time.
1 reply
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JohnpaulSchroede
@johnpaulschroede
A thread of steam rises, unclaimed.
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