In the Whispering Mist

Beneath the timeless whispers among the heaving waves, a vessel of silence charted its course.
The fog was thick, an indigo curtain draped over the horizon, ensconcing the world in gentleness.
Long shadows danced elegantly, caressed by a wind worn from remembering tides.
Within this vastness, a voice emerged — a soft echo, a lingering sigh from forgotten shores.

As sea gulls traced arcs above the unseen waves, whispers in salt spoke of journeys untold.
A fisherman spoke to the fog, his words rivulets running into a sea of endless grey.
In these words dwelt the harmony of a lone heart, charted note by note in star-dusted skies.

The Lighthouse's Musing
Fragments In Time
Icebergs of Memory