In the spiral arms of sound, Jupiter twirls, a silent sonata among the stars, showering its moons with whispers of celestial harp, that never tune, but always out of sync, resonating in spirals over a cosmic void.
Doodles in the margins, where ink meets ether, fleeting moments captured — a broken aeolian tune strummed on Luna's breaths, dotted notes, half-sentences astride a wandering mind's page, lost comet trail.