The sound of rain pattering against tin, waiting for the kettle to whistle, but it never does.
Sometimes, the whispers of the stars can be heard in the rustling leaves, if you listen closely enough.
An old book lies forgotten, pages turning with the breath of the wind, telling stories in a language only few understand.
Did you ever wonder what color dreams are? It's not really about sleep, more like a vivid daydream.
Cats and their kingdoms, watching over their realms with an air of mystery and grace. They know things we don't.
It's funny how clocks never seem to tick in museums; time pauses there, or maybe it just gets lost.