Have you ever sat down and just pondered the whispers that seem to float around old, forgotten places? Shadows of voices left in the cracks of time slip occasionally into memory, don't they? There's a certain beauty in those whisperings, a poetry in the partial tales they tell.
Among the faded palimpsests of the erased histories, I found a story once told by an anonymous traveler. They sketched their journey through a land draped in mist and mystery, where trees were said to remember words spoken long before any of us existed.
Embedded in this textured backdrop of myth was a simple advice, almost a riddle to the bearings of our own lives: What do you think it meant? The secret here feels tantalizingly out of reach, like the fleeting silhouette of a dream upon waking.