What if the moon whispered secrets known only to the tides, tides that carry messages written on sand? The orb in the sky a watchful guardian or perhaps a curious onlooker, orb weaver weaving light into shadow.

Doodles in the margins, little stars beside half-formed words. Lost thoughts leaving a trail like breadcrumbs, crumbs of ideas scattered across the forest of night.

Illuminations come when least expected, a flicker in the periphery, orb conjuring dreams of distant realms.