In the whispers of the fading twilight,

where silences echo and shadows merge,

an enigmatic crossing awaits,

its name known only to wandering souls,

the Intervals Cross.

Here, time drapes over the earth like sunset fog,

twining through the silvery foliage,

as if moments themselves were braided knots,

teasing threads of past and future,

laced with translucent dreams.

Step lightly...

and echo wine-dark laughter across the silent expanse,

hear the skittering secrets of time tracing their path,

through unexpected rendezvous

and quiet susurrations.

The Intervals Cross invites you-

each footfall a drop in your cascade of being,

yet here, each ripple bends inward,

pulling you toward the liquid elegy,

a sonnet sinking softly in twilight's embrace.

Leave the intersections behind,

as you drift beyond the cross,

into echoes—

where time dare not tread.