You might wonder sometimes, don't you? Why it seems like shadows step ahead in the day, right before dusk. It's as if they whisper tales forgotten by our waking selves, lingered beneath bristling leaves and rustling secrets.
Have you ever caught yourself thinking, "This is an odd place for a junction of paths"? When a solitary bird sings twice in the afternoon, and clouds twist into letters sent from the past. Mirrors where moments fold upon themselves.
Maybe, just maybe, those theories in chaos found solace in the ordinary. Like the cab driver the other morning, playing a song that wasn't renowned but was etched into the radio's forgotten melodies. Your theory, too, could overlay its soundtrack here.
Echo Sculptures