Invisible routes inked anew upon a strand interwoven with moon's silver, Trailing echoes: the quiet lecture of the wind amidst winter’s embrace.
Seashell whispers are bated-blue voices unraveling secrets upon salt-tide shores, drifting like scattered dreams in cobalt whispers.
Passage
Architecture of winds; sculpted by the silent cry of wandering paths displaced.
An echo—did it begin here, or was it once elsewhere and found again by serendipity?
Conduits
Revelations that bind trembling tracks; hushed tones spun into transient universes of dew-touched yesterdays.
Here lies reflection, veiled within the boats’ hollow slumber.
In the end, every path returns home, only to reshape into what was never seen but always sought...