From the salt-kissed breeze of the morning shore to the whispering grass of the untamed meadow, there are roads less visible, roads not taken. We often follow the familiar footfalls, the laborious prints of those that came before us, yet beyond the dunes, beyond the tall, swaying reeds, lies a world untouched by routine.
In the distance, a foghorn sounds, a call to journeys past and future. It beckons, but the noise fades, leaving only the rhythmic pulse of waves against the silken sands. The path forks. One leads into the surf, where the serendipity of marine life awaits, the other, a well-trodden trail underfoot, leads home.
Ever wonder what's just around that next bend? Maybe a story forgotten by the ocean, or a memory crafted by the winds. As the world shifts with every crashing tide so too does the landscape of our lives, shaped by forces unseen but deeply felt.