In the swirling mist of the mind, where clocks refuse to tick, a fork appears. Not for eating, but for choosing. Here lies the decision: to dance with the shadows or to swim with the clouds.
An owl might say, "Who?" but the answer lies not in who, but in what. The whispering trees speak in riddles, and the path giggles underfoot. Do you follow the sound of silence or the echo of a forgotten tomorrow?
Beyond the horizon, painted in shades of whimsy, is a land where jellybeans grow on trees and every second is a secret.