The breath of time unfurls, ancient winds echoing in the zephyrs we inhale today. As history whispers on, we stumble upon the buried codices woven into autumn's sigh. Relics of memory linger, taunting with forgotten names and phantom gazes.
Where once stood still the millennia's heft, the ancients converse in secret drafts. Troves of unwritten chronicles linger at attenuated horizons, stitched in spectral syllables.
Encoded within a breeze unfathomed, stories of the dusk of ages past drift upon fractured skies. The sea utters its taciturn witness, while stones, once wind-born, resettle.
Today, I glimpsed a shadow adrift—in the purlieus of dawn's second breath—a legacy inscribed on swells of tempest’s folly. Its secrets singing, the air unraveled with ancestral resonance and opaque musings.