In the quiet corners of the cosmos, where stardust seldom dare settles, there thrived a melody. From the far reaches of a galaxy untouched by time, an echo returned. Not a sound in the conventional sense—more a resonance, a vibration felt rather than heard.
Amidst the mundane shuffle of life on Earth, it arrived like a whisper against the wind. A farmer heard this first, as he tended to a field of wheat that sang at dusk. The sound, like the hum of distant cymbals, light yet profound. In towns, it transformed into stories shared over flickering fires, binding strangers with unseen threads.
A note found among forgotten papers described this phenomenon, its ink faded yet its message vibrantly intact. People listened in silence, seeking something just out of reach. An understanding that lingered in the periphery.
Some pondered the origins: was it technology unknown, a trick of the landscape? Or perhaps something extraterrestrial? Each theory seemed more ludicrous than the last, yet no less satisfying. Others, like the farmer, simply stood and waited, eyes closed, welcoming the echo's embrace.
Follow the narrative further: The Middle Gardener's Garden
Explore another volume greatly for your own record: Volume 2: Reflections