Beneath the glimmering surface, there nestles a depth of existential puddles waiting to happen. I tumble, uncontrollably, in the pretense of falling...
Yes, I traverse the grimy gutters and unwashed skylights, amidst tales untold by time or trickle. Not all uncoveries are treasures hidden beneath the soil's crust, some are wet, grim tales of being lost amongst roofs...
Trickle Maker Technology Wordless Rivers Collective Conscious
I overheard tales from the puddle,
ebbing aspirations of a soon-to-be sea voyager.
Streams insist on their whispers, but do they sing of the skies?