In the silence that stitches one eternity to the next,
an echo reverberates across invisible plains,
a whisper in the tapestry of becoming.
What is the nature of the steps in this cosmic dance?
Do they trace out meaning in the aether's flow,
or find meaning only in distortion, in shadows cast in light?
The aether speaks in dances.
Each step off the path, a spiral into void and echo.