In the quiet hush between the beating of hearts and the rustle of leaves, there lies a truth etched into the soft skin of the world, a truth whispered by the wind and echoed in the rings of time.
Half of the image tells the story of a tree, once standing tall beneath golden suns and silver moons. Each ring is a memoryof spring’s gentle kiss, summer’s passionate embrace, autumn’s sigh, and winter’s sleep. It is the diary of the forest, carved in silence, drenched in rain, warmed by the sun, and shaped by time’s kind hand.
The other half is the swirl of a fingerprint, delicate, personal, and intimate. It is the signature of a soul, tenderly formed in the womb of creation. Every ridge is a path, a journey of feeling, of touch, of love expressed through fingertips that hold, heal, and create.
Together, these two halves; wood and flesh, bark and skin, merge in a sacred symmetry. The lines are not just marks; they are lifelines, spirals of stories that remind us we are not separate from the Earth, but made of the same song. We are breath and root, blood and sap, pulse and rustle.
This is the sacred reminder to kind and gentle souls: that every act of love, every touch of compassion, echoes not only in hearts but through soil and stone. That to walk gently is to honor both the tree and the hand. That we are not guests on this planet, we are its poetry.
Stories Past Present Future 