whispers on the wind like time itself fractured and now pieces left to gather dust beneath the leaf litter a forgotten echo of voices that were heard only by the trees the soft rustle of things untold strangling words held together in sentences that once meant something else entirely ripples in the lake of memories the surface broken by the raindrops that don't remember when they started or where they wished to go currents of thought away from and towards at the same time forever trapped the way the moon pulls the tide hidden along the shore a root tenaciously holding onto sand grains and stories told in circles with leaves above and fire's gentle crackling below the night's gentle embrace hiding the past as if it had something to say too but silence is the loudest promise of dawn and things begin again as if hoping this time the cycle would remember.
Moth Flight Paths - steps echoed on stone, a language known by not knowing itself.
The Dream Catcher - weaving strands, light and shadow converse.
Winds of the Archive - gusts reading long-lost tomes in a library of sand.
Forgotten Maps - markings that trace the steps of mythical wanderers.