The Elder's Word

Ever walk beneath a foreign sky? Stars that you know by heart but have never seen so close?

The sands here whisper stories, their voices barely louder than your breath. It's a conversation with shadows; footprints inscribed on an alien shore echo tales older than time itself.

One night you stain the sky with solitude, turning over words the Elder spoke — "In quiet seas, the truths are stars, scattered by an artist of old."

Tales woven by the wind

The tree on the far coast is our boundary, yet define it where too large to touch the stars becomes the arrival, or so it seems.

Another horizon, another memory made staggering in the ink blackness. An Elder's Word wasn't designed for our shoulders, yet here we defend its heavy chilling truth — sunset eyes begin again from dusk sand.

So how do you fit the cosmos in your pocket? Like trying to snare fireflies into jars under midsummer's canopy. They glow gently, lending their light every so briefly until you realize the glow is a sip of your epiphany.

Last note: Remember, the right steps are across constellations, measured in heartbeats and held aloft by the thread of an Ursa Major threadbare dream.