Through the echo of absent songs, where the mist wraps its gentle ambush, the river creases softly — unveiling veins to run through the hollows of tomorrow's footsteps.
Have you seen the footprints upon the riverbed? They wander, unfurling into horizon, their tales of arrival now addressed to ephemeral confluence unseen.
Orpheus converses with shadows, drawing notes from fleeting banks beneath willow's shaded tapestry. Wait not for the ripples they authored, dear pilgrim; listen instead for echoes within whispers.