in the echo of yesteryears carried by unseen winds hovering at the perimeter between now and forever, whispers scatter like dew upon an autumn spider's web, tracing patterns only the heart comprehends in its own secret language...

a voice once spoken in a dream now slips through the cracks of consciousness, searching for meaning in the spaces between words, longing to be heard yet afraid of the clarity that presence demands...

gather round in this circle of intangible sound, where lurking echoes morph into transient reflections, and each syllable unspoken becomes a shadow waltzing on a tightrope strung between perception and oblivion...