The leaves whispered songs from ages past, rippling like the tides of a distant sea.
Do you hear that? The soft patter, like footsteps weaving themselves into the fabric of an alien shore.
Maybe crickets know the secret to spinning threads of starlight. Or perhaps the milkweed sighs in disbelief.
☼ Click on the orb of possibility:
Embark on a JourneyBetween here and there, questions linger like fog lifting off the dawn. Is anyone home?
Two worlds entwine, a serpent in its graceful dance, stealing glances at unspoken dreams. Are we the whispers left behind?
What traces have you left?