"The weather has a peculiar way of swaying the mind, wouldn’t you say? Like that time we fretted over the stillness in Fall.
Did anyone ever tell you about the flowers that bloom at midnight?
"Oh, perhaps it was but a dither, the slip of sanity in our daily grind. Wasn't grace forged in events so trivial?"
"And here we stand, tea mugs like relics from a time when nothing else mattered. Remember the wall? It liked the sunlight best."_
Haven’t we always been drawn to moments like the frost on glass? Just whispers of life, thin yet persistent.