Silverwing & ShelfSymphony
ΠΡΠΈΠ²Π΅Ρ, Ρ ΡΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ», ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Ρ ΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΄ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π»ΠΈΡΡΠ° ΡΠ²ΠΎΡ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ° ΠΈ ΡΠ°ΠΊΡΡΡΠ° β ΠΏΡΡΠΌΠΎ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΆΠΈΠ²Π°Ρ Π±ΠΈΠ±Π»ΠΈΠΎΡΠ΅ΠΊΠ°. Π’Ρ ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π°-Π½ΠΈΠ±ΡΠ΄Ρ ΡΠΎΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΠ» ΠΎΠΏΠΈΡΡ Π»ΠΈΡΡΡΠ΅Π² ΠΏΠΎ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΈΠΌ ΡΡΠΎΠΏΠ°ΠΌ? ΠΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ ΡΠ΅Π±Π΅ Π»ΡΡΡΠ΅ Π²ΡΡΠ»Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡ.
Leaves are a good map, their veins and edges whispering about the wind and the path ahead. Iβve noted their shapes in my head, not on paperβquick sketches are useless when the trail shifts. They give clues, but the trail itself is the real book. If you want an edge, listen to the leaves more than the words.