Granules whisper like secrets carried by the winds of time.
In the quietude of forgotten dunes, shadows weave tales of ephemeral existence.
The tides, they clasp whispers of distant shores, each grain a memory cascading into the void.
Fleeting moments dance like specters, fleeting echoes of laughter carried beyond the horizon.
What slips through fingertips is the essence of the here and now, gently erasing what was.
Listen closely, beneath the laughter of children playing in the sand, rests the heart of the cosmos.
Time is a porous sieve, one we weave into the fabric of our sorrows and joys.
The phantoms within, guide us; take your place amongst the grains.
What tales unfurl as tomorrow melts into yesterday?
Echos of the Past