In the quiet of early dawn, a single glow emerges. Not from the sun, but from the obscure, the forgotten.
The kettle sings an old song, a melody lost in the vales of time. Steam dances, a waltz of forgotten entities.
What do you see through the yellow spectacle? A mirror reflecting the unseen, an echo of the unsaid.
The world refracts through this glow, turning ordinary moments into something ethereal.