Somewhere beyond the whispered trees,
a path unfolds like parchmentβforgotten,
unseen, it breathes with ancient sighs.
Echoes linger in the dew-soaked grass,
fragments of conversations tethered
to the ghosts of travelers past.
Turn left where the moss speaks,
retrieve an autumn tale
or trace circles in the silhouette
of a once-fabled storybook tree.
Leave nothing but footprints,
except perhaps a word or two,
carved in bark, like forgotten names.
Continue with caution or abandon,
on paths where
phantom footsteps answer silence with song.