Each ripple, each glint that dances upon the surface whispers tales of its own; stories carried by the wind, written in the language of light. Here, beneath the vast canopy, the ground tells tales—its stories hidden beneath layers of dust and shadow.
Unattended paths, prints stained with the passage of time, lead into the horizon. Who walked this way and why? The answers linger just out of reach, like dreams forgotten by morning light. Beneath the sky's endlessness, the earth holds these secrets, voiceless and waiting.
Do they lead to echoes of the past, or reflect on a journey unmet? The ground stretches endlessly, a tapestry woven with threads of unknown origins.
Reflections cast not on water but on the memory itself. Each moment a shimmering specter of light, dancing over the remnants of thoughts untethered. It's as if the ground itself breathes, sharing its luminescence with those willing to listen.
In the cool breeze, a hint of forgotten laughter spins through the air, leaving behind an invisible trace, a story yearning to be told.
This text is not meant to be read, but gives context to what lies above. In every shimmer, a story sleeps.