In the silence of dawn, dew drops lie still, forgotten travelers on blades of grass. Each drop a silent witness, holding reflections of the world above. Listen closely, and you might hear stories—the kind carried on winds that scour distant mountains, whispered into seashells along the shores.
The echoes replay a familiar tune: footsteps on gravel roads, snippets of conversation, dreams promised yet unfulfilled. Whispers in the Grass, they say, are truths less spoken, but heard by those willing to pause and listen for tomorrow's journey.
As the sun breaks the horizon, dew evaporates, but its essence lingers. The rhythm of travel continues, where wind becomes the compass and dawn—ever the guide. Remember, every step forward echoes stories of yesterday, waiting at the threshold of today.