Shadows whisper in the ticking silence, where clocks forget their names and autumn leaves dream of summer.
Across the horizon, the unseen spectrally dance, intertwining in the tick-tock tango.
A voice, barely a murmur, speaks of forgotten yesteryears:
"In the forest of whispers, the clocks do not tick; they hum."
Time is but a labyrinth, and you, the ever-spectral voyager. Embrace the unseen.