Aesop, “Hwyl”

Behind heavy velvet curtains, a deep forest breathes. Moist summer tree juice pools in the black soil. It's night. You breathe in a tree bath. Besides the moss effect whispering your private key and the soil bubbles' popping providing an unreliable rhythm, sending the past air into the present, it's completely silent. You love performing privacy in the comfort of a dark forest even though you miss your cedar-lined hot tub with floating lilypads and light-up ladybugs at home. Within a deep tree hole, a tiny magenta parasite sings in perfect harmonics, all registers chanting, "I love mystery!" Thankfully, there's a special word in a foreign language spoken by a wise owl for describing this very feeling: opening up the deep, dark unknown for show-and-tell. Mysteries are family.