A slow, quiet dawn scatters gentle, gazing clouds into the viewport, drawing your eye towards another level of sacred, hidden presence. The sky is hazy with the sounds of dawns breaking: the first flushes of dawn is heard from within stills, still, alive, the heart of the world itself. The mountains, if any, are framed like silences hidden from view behind some shimmering mist and clouds, but before finally stepping upon them in an open and quiet embrace. In the mountainside: the winds waver the damp earth slowly around, first whisper's from quiet paths are visible until the light of her breaking begins, still and unassailed, yet alive to both time and life's fleeting phases in and out of dawns. The forest's light is the only guide—brighter and steadier and sharper each day as the sun begins to rise, and new cycles of dawn unfold within each silence—until their very sight is clear.
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