The valleys sing, but who listens? The trees declare their secrets, yet their audience is deaf. Here in Sonorous Lands, everyone is a bard, yet no one can hear the song. Satirists become prophets as the wind carries their ironies across the hills, preaching to an empty congregation.
Once, a brook babbled about the merits of silence. "Why speak when whispers are louder than thunder?" it said, trickling with transcendent wisdom. The fish nodded, but only the frogs understood.
The sky writes messages with clouds, but the clouds have their own narratives to tell: stories of time, eternity paused, and lapses in attention. Seekers wander, reading one truth only to redefine another. Yet, if you listen closely, you may catch the syllables of your own name.
Here, ciphers decode themselves in the shadow of the ambient drone, and the elusiveness of sound renders the listener both king and beggar. The zenith of irony lies in the steadfastness of echoes, which promise everything yet deliver only resonances.