The southbound gales whisper of lonely kites that ascend only for ephemeral freedom prior to a reverse waltz with the nimbostrati.
Sing, oh corrupted serenade where notes climb down elegant scales! Yet here's entropy in an eddy-dance.
Alexander was here: Follow the echo.
Streams of tales blown backward, ardently hurried histories reborn in violent reverse.
Recall your strides—each taken backwards awakens banquet tunes, uprooted from dimension and roasted alongside half-thought noodles.
Have you tasted the rushing zephyr doughnuts? Here - the opposite pole leads on:
Point North without pointing north.