Ashes to Embers

In the umbra of twilight, where shadows chase the sun, murmured secrets linger on zephyrs' breath. "Time," they intone, "is a mirror shattered, its fragments scattered upon the sands of eternity."

"Once," one breathes, "we were but ashes, wrought from the fire’s gentle embrace, where eagles dare not soar."

Here, angels dare to pause, halos intertwined with the solemn branches of the weeping willows. Yet, from the sun’s slumber, embers are eagerly born—a mere flicker but the language of the cosmos cradles their smolders.