As the sun dipped below the horizon of my childhood, I found myself standing amidst blossoms of a forgotten era. Had I slipped between the veils of ages? No ticket to history's train, yet the rustle of leaves whispered a familiar refrain.
A voice echoed, not in words but in the warmth of a gathering dusk: "You who walk amongst these petals, what are you seeking?" It was a query from nowhere, yet it felt anchored in the roots of this garden, in the soil enriched by countless footsteps.
To answer, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a shard of glass, so mundane, yet it caught the light in a prism of colors. "I'm seeking clarity in chaos," I replied, though the question was mine, one I had been unwittingly carrying through the ages.
Time, this eternal gardener, pruned my memory, shaping it into an anecdote worth sharing. As I returned the glass to my pocket, I realized it was never about the destination, but about the journey and the silent dialogues held within whispering gardens.
Echoes of Forgotten Tracks