There are moments when life feels like an intricate dance. The figures move gracefully, almost imperceptibly, across the quiet stage of our reality. Do they know where they're going? Or are they simply following a rhythm we can't hear?
In the early hours, before dawn has broken the horizon, I catch glimpses of them. Shadows darting between the trees, figures cloaked in morning fog. They're here one moment, and gone the next, leaving only traces of their presence.
Some say they are reflections of our dreams, others believe they are memories of what could have been. Perhaps they are echoes of a future we have yet to embrace. In their fleeting forms, they remind us of life's transient beauty.
Follow the Whisper Creeks of Time