THEM
In a hidden corner of a faraway forest, where the air is cool and the ground is soft with layers of moss, something extraordinary comes to life when the sun goes down. There, beneath a canopy of towering trees, lies a world where the moonlight rarely reaches, and the night seems to whisper secrets known only to those who truly listen.
The mist rolls in, like a silken veil settling over the land, and the air grows thick with the scent of earth and rain. Ferns sway gently as if moved by an unseen breath, their fronds heavy with dew. A quiet magic pulses in the underbrush, and the hum of the forest grows softer, almost as if waiting.
Then, from the depths of the mossy ground, tiny points of light begin to flicker. At first, they seem like stars fallen to the forest floor, glowing softly in the fog. But these lights are not mere reflections of the sky. They belong to Them-the sentient mushrooms that dwell in the shadows of the ancient woods.
They rise from the damp soil, their caps shimmering with a yellow-gold glow that cuts through the fog like lanterns in the darkness. Each one is unique, with delicate, translucent edges that seem to flutter in the night breeze, and stalks that stretch upward, bending gracefully as if listening to the whispers carried by the wind.
They speak to each other in soft, inaudible murmurs, a language made of light and silence, their conversations weaving through the darkness like threads of gold. Their glow pulses gently, in rhythm with the beat of the earth beneath them, casting an amber light on the moss and ferns around them. As they sway, their light seems to dance, painting patterns on the forest floor, drawing shapes that tell stories of the woods from long before any human eyes ever gazed upon this place.
On this particular night, the mist grows thicker, wrapping the mushrooms in a cloud of mystery. The air feels different-alive with anticipation. They sense it too. Their lights grow brighter, each pulse quicker than the last, as if responding to a silent call that only they can hear.
One by one, they turn their golden glow toward the center of the clearing, where the fog is the heaviest. From the mist, a figure begins to emerge, moving slowly, almost gliding. It is not a creature of flesh and bone but a shape woven from the same light that dances in the mushrooms. Its form is ethereal, like a wisp of mist given life and shape, with eyes that burn like twin suns in the fog.
The mushrooms know Them-the guardian of this hidden world, the keeper of their secrets. They lean in closer, their lights dimming in reverence, their whispers growing silent. The figure moves among them, bending low as if to listen to each mushroom's silent song. In return, it offers a touch-just a brush of light across each cap, and where it touches, the mushrooms bloom with a brilliance more radiant than ever.
The figure's touch brings stories of the stars above, of the winds that carry forgotten whispers through the treetops, of creatures that wander the woods under the cover of night. And as it moves, the mushrooms begin to sway in unison, their lights flickering in a slow, graceful dance that feels like the heartbeat of the forest itself.
Tonight, they share a dream-a dream of the mist and moonlight, of ferns that curl underfoot and moss that holds the memory of ages past. A dream where they are more than mushrooms, more than light in the darkness. They are the watchers, the keepers of the quiet things, the silent guardians of a world hidden from the waking eye.
And as the night deepens and the mist begins to lift, their light grows softer, dimming to a gentle glow that fades with the first hint of dawn. One by one, the mushrooms bow their heads, sinking back into the mossy earth, their golden light swallowed by the morning fog.
The forest grows still again, the ferns no longer swaying, the air no longer pulsing with their quiet song. All that remains is the memory of Them, the sentient beings of the night, who leave no trace behind but the soft imprint of light and the echoes of a dream that lives only in the deepest part of the forest.
And when you close your eyes and let sleep take you, perhaps you will dream of them too-the guardians of the quiet, the keepers of the mist, the ones who glow like stars fallen to earth. For they are always there, hidden in the heart of the forest, waiting for the night to fall once more.🟡 All compositions (audio & visual) created by Michael Nielsen
#vibesoundzzztherapy #them #futureambient
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T H E M // Relaxing Future Ambient | 10 HOURS
© Vibe Soundzzz Therapy, 2024. All rights reserved. Any reproduction or republication of all or part of this video/audio is prohibited.
12 окт 2024
