Ever heard a tale too quiet to be believed? Like winds chatting secrets only the trees understand. Right here, at the edge of everything, those whispers echo. Let me tell you about the time when the wind decided to share its stories with me.
"We're all just echoes, casting shadows in the twilight of this world," the wind murmured.
It was a night like any other, only less certain. The moon was hiding behind a veil of clouds, shy perhaps or just playing coy. I was standing on the edge of a forgotten path, where stones lay scattered like sentences broken off mid-thought. There, the murmurs began.
Now, I could pretend I'm some kind of oracle, gifted with the ability to hear these murmurs, but really, they just came to me. A soft rustle, a distant hush—it all blended together into a melody of the forsaken.
Have you ever felt a breeze that carried more than just cool air? More than just whispers of leaves? Like an entire chorus of unsung destinies brushing past you?
And as I stood there, I couldn’t help but think of the stories hidden in these slopes, tales of travelers who've passed this way, leaving bits of themselves scattered like the turning leaves.