The river hums in covert twilight, a melody like forgotten incense spiraling towards untouchable stars. These waters, shadowed in murk and mystery, sing songs of old wanderers, echoes formed from mist and moonlit whispers.
In the depths, currents cradle untold dreams—silent lullabies reverberating through trembling reeds, their tender caress a sanctuary for wandering thoughts. Here, a breeze carries the scent of distant orchards, ripe with timeless stories.
Listen to the echoes more closely: listen closer and you might hear the laughter of children playing beneath the willows, their voices a stitch in the river's endless breath, woven with threads of light and shadow.
A boat drifts past, an ephemeral shape brushed by evening's breath. Its oars dip silently, each stroke parting the night in gentle ripples that dance with starry luminescence. The river nymphs smile, hidden in the depths where dreams entwine with reality's edge.
As you stand on the bank, the world dissolves into shades of silver and blue, where time is but a fluid whisper—a continuous echo of muted lullabies and forgotten vows, as the river takes your name into its fathomless heart.
The Whispering Trees | These Shadowed Corners