A horizon painted in pastels, the sun peeked through the clouds, tired and slow. Jane reached for her coffee, but found only air. Dreams filled the void.
"Time is a spiral, not linear," he murmured as he adjusted his cufflinks, oblivious to the clock's dance on the wall.
In the garden, the tulips whispered secrets, their petals painting silent stories beneath the morning dew. Birds paused their songs, intrigued.
"Did you ever see them fly?" she asked, pointing to the shadows that flickered just out of sight.