Starry tapestry unfurls. Tonight, the sky whispers in morse code signaling dreams and forgotten paths. Sirius hums a tune only visible to those with eyes turned to the past, guiding with its brilliance. Seek the lost.
Interpreting the celestial dance, my compass bends to Ursa Major, her silhouette telling stories of ancient mariners. The Big Dipper spills secrets in liquid silver. Do the stars remember? Echoes of voyages still linger over the horizon.
Between the leap of Orion’s Belt lies a space where time folds into itself. I sit as part of this cosmic web, weaving in and out of the void. The echo of Cassiopeia’s laughter is like ripples on an astral pond.
I ponder the navigation of spaces unseen, where constellations whisper nonsense in beautiful alignments. A chart of nightfall made not of stars, but of thoughts.
Dream of figments as constellations transform into tales of yore.