Have you ever contemplated where the footsteps of shadow wander? Places skipped over in the rush of life's bright script, where every edge is softened by forgotten softness. The ground there isn't firm; leaves and whispers etch messages invisible to the naked eye, yet potent for the heart's sight.
Paths tread by character and circumstance—ink spills into crevices, an impression only known to those who pause to listen. The journey is marked not in stones, but in waves where land embraces the transient breath of ocean.
In the quiet stretches, the traveler finds whispers echoing gently—like the sigh of a once-great storm, now a gentle rain. Have you listened to those echoes? They speak in a language of which no dictionary cements, yet every heart understands.