The Night's Whisper

There's something about the night breeze that brings clarity, like a crystal voice echoing from the walls of an imagined canyon. Or maybe it's just the sound of autumn leaves pretending they're raindrops waiting for the next train to oblivion.

"Do you hear those bells?" she whispers, stepping barefoot on the gravel path where now-concealed shadows shake hands with blades of memory. Somewhere, a clock chimes twelve in a world's distant hum, or perhaps it's just the gut of a dreaming whale echoing under a sleepy moon.

Tales of Trunk and Whisper The Night's Symphony

Isn't it amusing, sometimes, how the stars above look like attached fairy lights peeking through a sunken attic's shingle? A twilight joke at the expense of the cosmos, daring you to find cosmic meaning in your grandmother's embroidered curtains.

Yet here you stand, fictitiously breathing in skies and asking the wind why it carries no groceries or unfinished novels. The world’s absurd-ending appears in a creased smile hidden amidst the dark’s folds.

Remember, always, the night may hide monsters or lovers; in these hours, the moon you see wearing a reluctant crown watches every jest carefully and laughs all the harder.