In the spaces where voices dare not tread, there lies a canvas untouched. A page unwritten, where words are too heavy, their shadows too long.
Turn and ponder, if you wish.
"Silence," she said, her voice a ripple in the water, "is a language of its own, one that speaks louder than all the verses of Echoes of the Past".1
Let the moments hang, suspended like autumn leaves. Each breath holds the unspoken, the secrets of a universe in thought.Observe the falling stars.
Dreams are merely the footprints of silence, tracing paths in the ether.2 We walk them with eyes shut, knowing yet unknowing.
In the margins of Volations of the Moon lies the key to understanding: "To hear, you must first learn to not listen."