In the quiet, where the world's breath ceases, lies the dew. Each droplet, a testament to the night's gentle embrace, holds within it a universe of reflections.
Do we dance on the edges of understanding, like the dew on a spider's web? Consider the weight of footsteps unmade, paths not tread, yet marked within the labyrinth of thought.
The paths we choose—or leave behind—are etched not in the sand, but the unseen. Like dew, they evaporate under the sun's scrutiny, leaving behind only the ghost of a footprint.
Seek not the destination, for every step is an arrival in disguise. In the deluge of thoughts, find your dew—momentarily illuminating the tapestry of consciousness before it fades.