The whispering sunlight treads cautiously upon the emerald tapestry, weaving melodies in midair, invisible strings pulling at the soul's shroud. Time drips slowly here—liquid seconds spilling into endlessness, and amidst the glow, shadows speak in forgotten tongues.
Ephemeral thoughts, like dandelion seeds upon the breeze, scatter wide: "Who counts the whispers of autumn?" "In the banter of trees, is there a destiny unwritten?" Yet transient they remain, lost amidst the rustling sighs of the universe.
Once, a fleeting figure danced 'neath the canopy—an echo of laughter, entwined with the heartstrings of the morning. The path they tread is now a glimmer of shade upon shade, a fugue composed of silence.