There lies a whisper, like dew beneath a blistering dawn upon fraying blades of ethereal grass. Lingering paths shrouded in umbra, where the ordinary melds into dream-swirled nuances — glimpses of a world not yet saw but everlong known by faint murmurings through thin veils.
You are invited, dear wanderer, to lose a shoe upon a forgotten terrain, to walk barefoot across horizons — nebulous and far. Feel the chill of incognizant echoes wrapping you, as soft petals trailing the absent winds amidst the lilac-hued glow ...
The moon governs silent oaths, promises of paths unnoticed, where tread-light travelers blend into patterns, sinewy rootway hymns — sylph's tranquility resting with there missing other half's.