The echoes of voices I've never known mingle with the rustling leaves above the asphalt road. A small girl with braids laughed somewhere in the sky, her laugh trailing like a comet's tail.
Yesterday, I held a yellow stone that sparked thoughts of
the sea, yet I have never seen the ocean.
But isn’t it blue?
Continue the journey...
Reflection pools hold whispers of orange sunsets where time seems to pause -- a stolen second, floating in a universe of dust motes.
In the attic of a house that does not belong to me, I found letters dated from 1923. The scent of dried ink is a language of its own.
Was it a promise or a dream?
Read the echoes...
Soft rain on a metal roof sounds like the whisper of stars talking secrets too loud for human ears, too quiet to remember.