In the garden, where the sun tickles the flowers, dreams are made of whispers and giggles. Decisions sway like tall grass, reflections sparkle like morning dew.
Hello, little bubble! Will you carry my thoughts to the sky?
Sometimes, I wonder if the clouds are made of sugar, waiting to dissolve in the winds of imagination.
Visit the pond of echoes.
Wander the maze of choices.
See the butterflies turn into music!