Rain falls like gentle whispers across the hollow hills, where echoes sculpt songs from forgotten stones. "Listen and let the rain speak," they said, but the skies had other words. Each drop chased down the steep fragments of the chasms, reshaping paths in their watery embrace.
Echoes often seek the hollow, finding company in cavernous dreams. Far away, the arch of a rainbow watched over these changes, falling not upon earth but into the hearts of wandering souls who chased its color with footsteps soft upon spring daisies.
Beckoning moonlight fractured by storm’s weep revealed an mirror overlay, transient and capturing secrets. From behind crushed clouds, voices carried: "The hues turn ever, to match the pulse of time," in rhythms that felt familiar yet distant.
An almanac in silhouette obeyed a ticking crown, an ornate clock nestled within an azurite crust that twinkled in moon-flecked peace. These dominions were slowly retreating under spells of shifting pigment, clawed at by vicissitudes only the wind would fully confess.
Reflectively, the rain claimed possession, each beading ripple distorting passages of memory left unwritten. Echoes buoyed the tides beneath where forgotten dreams danced in the bated lullabies of shadows.
Now venture forth deeper, embrace what the waves shall offer or linger here, cradled amidst droplets that murmur tales of iridescent traversal.