In the twilight of forgotten landscapes, the fields whisper tales of gardens that once flourished under the sun’s embrace. Shadows stretch and bend, a symphony of silhouettes dancing in the absence of light, where stories of yesteryears decay into dust and memory.
Forgotten paths lead nowhere, or perhaps everywhere, winding through a tapestry woven of twilight and whispers. Each step measures distance not in miles, but in the unfolding of time, leaving impressions deeper than footsteps, into the very soil of existence.
Flickering at the edges of perception, a door stands ajar: open it to discover what lies beyond the veil of reality.
Between the lines of rusting fences and faded signs, another path beckons, marked simply by an echo of a forgotten sound, a murmur of what could have been.