Alfresco Reveries

In the shimmering caress of the autumn wisp, where the golden leaves whisper tales of half-forgotten dreams, there lies a meadow untouched by time's wage. Amongst the grasses, equations, adorned with silk scars, unfold stories of silent voices.

Once, a sparrow scribbled on the wind: _"To dust and beyond, if singularity's gaze be kind."' Such utterances are the whispers of cicada orchestras lost in the twilight of being.

Dare not traverse these gentle fields without glimpsing the unbound letters they protect—aryptogram of star-laden wishes seeking freedom from the earthly tether.