Footprints in the Hollow

In the vastness of the hollow, where echoes linger just a moment longer than they should, the ground is a narrative written in footprints. Some lead urgently away, others pause, questioning. A child’s smaller prints mix with the long strides of an adult, tracing an encounter not captured in words.

We walk these paths, though rarely alone. Spirits of the hollow, if they exist, might share the journey but deliver no company. Instead, they communicate through tremors in the air, whispers seeping from the soil. Each footprint a memory, a trace of a presence acknowledged by tired eyes but unseen by candlelight.

You can walk the same road, if you dare venture, and feel the presence of what was, or might be. The earth breathes underfoot, carrying secrets in the ridges and the valleys. Choose the lane that diverges in its pattern—a test of faith or perhaps a reckoning with the self in solitude.