In the shadow of dormant volcanoes, wind weaves through ebony bamboo, carrying the ghostly hush of temple bells submerged in dawn's amber. The low mids of the bells vibrate like distant avalanches, while the bamboo grove's rustling feathers a counterpoint to whispers trailing from the earth's breath. A waterfall's whispered murmur nestles in the bamboo's shadow, its steady descent a cradle for the wind's restless dance. This symphony of layered breath—wind, stone, and silence—wraps Goma's restle