In the shadows between the trees, footsteps echo yet cast no shadows, threading pathways into unspoken realms where time forgets its guardians.
A bower cloaked in whispers, where owls exchange glances with passing winds, and all is seen and unseen wrapped in velvet quietude.
Beneath the ancient boughs, the sitar hums, unseen lips trace arcs in muted letters, communication streamed through silent electric pulses.
Do the stars linger in the woods, or are they flutters of the moth's wings by chance? Unseen Path whispers of a journey that began long before.
The silence spoke volumes, a library of murmurs hidden in bark and leaf. Reflections reveal stories not written but felt.