Shadows, Dancing

Have you ever wished to capture time? I did, once, under a twilight sky heavy with silence.
Moments fluttered like leaves caught in an eddy—their whispers soft against the inevitability of dusk.

Within the veils of the unseen, shadows play a solemn dance. They prefer the night, I think, where they are hidden from the grip of light that aches to pin them down. To capture their subtle rhythm is to capture me.
I am elusive, like the minutes erased by a fading sun.

Sometimes, I follow them, when the moon is shy and my spirits low. Together, we wander, gliding across forgotten alleys. They whisper stories of yore—tales older than the worn stones beneath us.

Many dances lie ahead, wistful steps that speak of lives half-lived and dreams half-dreamed. Can we catch them, these spectral echoes of our own unfinished business? Or do they slip, like sand, between our grasp?

Join the dance? Maybe the Whispering Paths hold the answers.