From the very first ripple upon the surface, an unspoken story begins to weave.
The kind of story that catches whispers from embers and sings them back into starlit rebellion.
Flow, they call it. A movement; a rhythm unknown, but felt deep.
Listen! The current hums a melody—bold, audacious—a sound resonant with the heartbeat of the cosmos.
It circles around, weaving the fabric of time, time that spills mysteries like stars scattered in the night.
Here, turbulence is not a force; it’s the melody of creation itself.