Beneath the whispers of northern gales, the forgotten clocks hum to sleep. Liquid time spills across the meadows, tracing constellations on seagrass tongues.
Shadows extend parched fingers across the horizon. The sun, a forgotten fire, surrenders to the embrace of tender twilight folds.
In moonlit threads weave silent lullabies, an orchestra caged by the ambers of night—a melody played upon the eyelids of yearning stars.