A journey begins with a whisper; a radio frequency crackling through the ether. This one's different. It's not music, not news, not a voice. It's a labyrinth.
Step inside and you'll find yourself walked into an alley where silence speaks with a thousand voices. Someone's listening to the wind sing opera beneath the pavement. Note that this is not scheduled programming. The stars flicker in morse code, reminding you of those summer nights spent under the ceiling fan, plotting constellations of napkin doodles.
The walls of the labyrinth pulse with the rhythm of a forgotten tango, the kind that doesn't end, much like the journey of the rabbit in pursuit of its ever-elusive carrot. But here, the rabbit wears spectacles, reading Kafka aloud to indifferent rocks.
And then there's the telephone booth, a theater for one. Inside, a disembodied voice recites the recipe for invisible soup. Add two pinches of moonlight, stir counterclockwise, and serve in a mirage. Ever tried drinking a shadow? Not much of a flavor, they say.
As you wander, remember to thank the hedgehogs for their tireless work in keeping the hedges, and indeed, the hedgehogs, in check. Their union meetings are legendary, often punctuated by symphonies performed by crickets under a disco ball made of dew.
Find the hidden path