The whispers unfurl like petals in the moist breath of dawn. The trees stand tall, their leaves trembling with secrets not meant for human ears. A breeze dances through, tangible yet elusive, carrying phrases lost in time:
"Dreams of silver, sunset's ember."
Here, colors fade and brighten without reason, echoing forgotten melodies. The sound carries, wrapping around like a shawl spun from autumn fog. You sit upon the mossy earth, the ground cool and alive, resonating with stories time has erased.
"Echoes of laughter under a waning moon."