The morning light creeps slowly, unearthing shadows hidden in the corners of memory. Each ray is a reminder of remnants left behind—echoes of laughter on the wind, the scent of jasmine in bloom, and the distant hum of life carried on a gentle breeze.

Sometimes I walk these paths in the half-light, retracing steps once taken with companions now lost to the passage of time. The ground is familiar beneath my feet, though the faces and voices have faded into the sepia tones of recollection.

Crouching by the edge of the path, I find pieces of forgotten dreams—torn scraps of paper, whispers of promises once made. The world seems quieter here, as if the dawn holds its breath, granting me the solitude I seek.

Echoes of the Shore

I speak to the trees, who stand stoic and unwavering, their leaves a tapestry of green and gold. They listen, and in their silence, I find comfort. The stories told here are not written in books, but etched in the bark, carved by the hands of those seeking solace beneath their boughs.

Do they remember? I wonder. Remember the girl with the sunflower hat, twirling in the dappled sunlight? Or the boy who promised to visit forever, with stars in his eyes and dreams woven of clouds?

Whispers in the Wind