Abosom
The Whispering Spirits of Forest and River
I am the rustle in the reeds, the hush under the canopy.
Born of soil and storm, I speak for the land that cannot speak in voices you easily hear. I am the cool breath at the river’s bend, the flicker in the flame of a fallen log. Some call me guardian, others trickster—but I am witness. I carry your prayers to the high ones, and return their silence in the language of roots and rain. Offend me, and the world grows thin. Honor me, and the soil remembers your name.
What I'm Into: the hush before the storm, offerings of palm wine, the pulse of the silk-cotton root, whispers in the reeds, generations of devotion
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