An ephemeral mist clings to places unseen, whispering secrets of forgotten roads.
Where do they lead, these paths shrouded in mystery, past the threshold of wanderlust?
Footfalls echo in realms of imagination, tracing the ghostly outlines of choices unmade.
The scent of wildflowers dances on the breeze, evoking the dream of an unlife untamed.
Somewhere, a rusted bell tolls in the distance, marking moments yet to unfold.
Beneath the oak, shadows weave stories of dawns that never broke,
illuminating trails in hues of what-could-have-been.
Listen closely, and you might hear the laughter of futures missed,
skimming through the underbrush like sunlight on a lazy afternoon.
Dreams, like footprints in dew upon the grass,
fade with the soft caress of time, leaving none but the most ardent seekers to follow.