In realms unseen by the casual admirer of dawn, a ripple stirred the lake. Not disruptive, but tender, like a mother kiss, bamboo whispers in the midnight moonlight reflect stars you cannot follow.
Solitude lives there, beside the lotus, jester to none but the evening breeze. She hears secrets old as mountains, sighs echoing from the heart of each cosmos. Isn't that an illusion, they ask? Who’s they, you wondered, lost in reverie?
Some trails had no footprints. Phantoms of a forgotten dialogue trailed behind, weaving tapestries of concealed truths and vibrant colors no wanderer had seen.
But these petals, nestled between perception and nothingness, carried songs of transient anonymity yet unknown. A pebble was tossed, ancients chuckled from their hidden alcoves; an eternity measured in breezes and drops.
Return to the fable's beginning, or nestle comfortably among its endings. There's a choice, though threads interlock with mystery's embrace.
The Silent Crescendo Beneath a Luminous Veil Bow to the Spellbound Currents