The pathway is paved with ivory stars, each emitting a soft hum that reverberates gently through the air with every step taken. Wind does not kiss, it embraces here in a warm waltz, seeming to weave intricate textures upon gently falling dreams.
Alone in tranquility, the Brass Jupiter spoke softly:
"If the mountain slept, dreams of silk would cascade down its slope, enfolding the world in a tapestry unseen by the sunlight's fickle eye."
From the shadow of an ancient willow, a voice most delicate replied, unheard by those bound to earth's clutches:
"Mountains spill dreams like soft avalanches, unseen but felt. Fear not the ground—fear instead the beauty in rising."
Then a choir of sunbeams, caught within the lattice of the willow's embrace, sang
"In every ascent lies a story untamed—join us in the flight and leave the weight of knowing behind."
Lines carved into the air linger as gentle sighs escape the universe, each carrying rhythm, breathing harmonies strummed by unknown hands. Above, in ethereal reach, tales of forgotten constellations dance, urging in a silent crescendo to rise further, aspire closer to that which births light.