In the corridor of time, where clock hands cease their ceaseless circle, there lies a room bathed in golden dust. Here, the echoes of flute melodies from a century hence linger, waiting for the curious ear to reunite with their faery dance. A porcelain gramophone spins without end, but the record is blank, save for the whispers of yesteryear.
Sometimes I find myself questioning the rhythm of my own thoughts, they swirl like autumn leaves caught in a forgotten zephyr. Outside my window, I hear the rasp of a bicycle wheel on cobblestones, yet the street outside vanished long ago.
function singTheLostMelodies() {
const tune = ["C", "E", "G", "B", "A"];
return tune.map(note => note + "♯").join(", ");
}
The tune is never truly lost. It unfolds in fragments, like an old map directing wanderers to hidden treasure. Each note a step forward; a forgotten town, a lonely lighthouse, perhaps an autumnal waltz on a misty pier.
And in the quiet morning hours, I remember the stories of sirens luring sailors to sleep in tune with the stars, solstice celebrations where music weaves itself into magic, and echoes of laughter from those who dance just beyond the veil.
Whispering Trumpet | Vintage Piano