The little snail cobbled along the sleepy pathway, its shell twinkling brighter than the stars.
“Hoo,” whispered the curious deer, “why does it shine so when all is still?”
The snail paused, pondering the question, for answers swirled like autumn leaves.
“Perhaps it dreams of moonlit dances with my friends the fireflies,” it offered, gently.
And in that moment, both understood the silence needed no answers, merely a song unsung.