In the fields where silence speaks, the whisper of the cosmos echoes in eternity. There is a point, an axis, where time folds upon itself, weaving the tapestry of reality: threads of what was, what is, and what shall never be unearthed.
Have you walked these paths before? The soil knows your footprints, tracing stories of lives unlived yet familiar. Each blade of grass a testament to fleeting memories, shining with the dew of another existence.
Philosophers ponder, while sages remain silent, for the answers linger beyond the veil of understanding. To know is to forget, to remember is to lose anew. In this cycle, the arcana reveal their truth: an eternal return, a circle unbroken.
And so we ask, standing amongst the whispers: Is this moment yours alone, or are you but a player in a play repeated, adorned in the costumes of fate? Let the fields tell their tale, for they are the memory of the cosmos.