The trees are not lonely, just silent. Shadows embrace the moon-beams, each bough a humble vessel, teeming with stories suspended in time.
Fragments of forgotten song float like feathers, spiraling in the cool breath of midnight. In the stillness, echoes faintly breathe through the branches.
A momentary rustle—a chatter that doesn't belong—guides the lost back towards reality, yet it escapes the tendrils of cogitation.
Light filters through whispering leaves, as the textures of thoughts brush against serene emptiness. For within each absence lies the vibrancy of the unseen—
And the more you listen, the less you hear; a perplexing ballet of perception that worlds intertwine in secrecy.
Explore paths unknown: Whispers in the Dark, Ghostly Moving Shapes.