Beyond the edges of the forest, the leaf saw the rise of the sun. Its glow flickered like an old TV set, casting shadows on memories lost in time.
The leaf whispered to the wind, stories of seasons past—chirping crickets, rustling underbrush, and the distant echo of human laughter. These sounds were stories, once vibrant, now just static on an old screen.
The leaf's witness is silent yet profound. It observes the rise and fall, the cycles of life unfolding in a dance as old as time itself. A leaf on the wind, simple yet complex.
The sound of footsteps broke the silence—familiar, distant, yet close as a heartbeat. The witness, still as the night, prepared to share its tale.
Echo in the Shadow Whisper to the River