Late night musings, under a vast tapestry of cosmic whispers. The stars tell stories, ancient and forgotten, just like the fables our elders wove around fires long before the digital haze settled over the world.
Look, there's Orion, a figure of strength; listen closely and you might hear his struggles mirrored in your own. And look again, there's the little fox, always outsmarting the hunter. It's a reflection of wit over brawn, reminding us that sometimes cunning wins the night.
Constellations trace the narrative threads stitched into the fabric of night. Described by mythologists as maps to lost destinies, what are maps but stories turned sideways to navigate through the unknown?
Above, a web of intertwined tales, beneath, the threads of our own fleeting stories. You think of the fables: the tortoise and the hare, the boy who cried wolf, figures locked in silhouette against the moon’s glow.
Tides of TimeThe constellations pulse, erratic as consciousness, tethered to nothing but the dreams of those who dare look up. Fables reform, under each dazzling constellation, binding the fabric of possible lives not lived, paths not taken.