He stood at the fragile edge of tomorrow's memory, gazing into waters as silvered as the reflection of the moon at dawn.
The surface spoke in ripples—each turn bringing echoes from depths unspoken and unsought.
Beneath the surface lurked a peculiar resonance. It was not a sound, more a sensation manifesting as whispers hissing through the trees, pulling threads of time taut against the silent resistance of the dusk. Reflect and seek; the boundless depths offer no answers shallwed in haste.
As shadows stretched, they danced in pairs, mirroring not the form but the whimsy of untouched imaginings—a uwinding mural drawn from the canvass of endless twilight.
Slowly, the present crumbled. In its fragility, truth blurred, and in its surrender, detail stripped into a reality devoid of forms, yet full of essences. As he watched, something curious began; a jigsaw dreamscaped into expressions of what lay hidden beneath surface facades.
A Silent Orchestra Bends