A light interweaving of synth melodies, like the first tendrils reaching for support. A soft, almost dusty bass - the warmth of an old wall it creeps along. The drums don't strike, they shift, like footsteps in a half-dream. Somewhere in the distance, bells are ringing faintly, as if borne by the wind from a neighboring field. Everything here is a slow, stubborn overgrowth of space with a quiet, warm pattern. In this melody lies the astringency of green sap and the quiet joy of a leisurely climb upward, toward the light