Whistling Phantoms

On a bright cloud-hopping day, there were phantoms. They whispered soft tunes beneath the silver whirring trees. But did you know they loved the rainbow of colors sprawled across the sky?

Wandering along forgotten paths, hand in hand with gentle zephyrs, the phantoms whistled like melodies trapped in glass tubes. Rain to dust, drips for echoes, always with skies painted far and wide.

Little feet, big dreams, chasing the whistling phantoms, across fields of daisies. They hum your name in notes sharper than a paper boat under summer moon's gaze. Have you ever stopped to listen? A gentle hum, but the song? Unfathomable to even the wisest trees.

There's something magical in the simplest of tunes, something that tickles the stars into softly pricking laughter. Maybe they whisper lullabies for the skyland sheep.

Now, it's your turn—draw a sky that sings or doodle a ghost that giggles. And if you ever meet the phantoms, tell them the doodles told you the stories. Sing with the clouds or perhaps dance with the dreams.