"Do you taste the clouds differently when they slip beneath your feet?" shivered the bluebird, shoulders unraveling as if to unfurl wings they never possessed. Below, a harvest moon had painted the meadow with thoughts that danced on the rim of consciousness. "In whispers of the aether, we detangle the firmament. It’s gravity-defying, but why... not gravity-embracing?"
The distant stars flickered, half-hearted in their attempt to eavesdrop. "Consult the astral ties that bind," murmured the vaporous figure. Yet, oddly, the sky had knots invisible to naked gaze. "Aconect," they crooned, a neologism steeped in slumbering dialect. "Where do you lie when sleep drifts away like a forgotten fog?"
Travel to the Celestial Collage