It's quiet here. The kind of quiet that drones softly in the back of your mind, like a forgotten tune that you just can't put a name to. You stand by the stream, or maybe it stands by you. It's just the two of you, engaged in a conversation older than words. Have you ever noticed how streams hum, weaving stories that only the listen closely can appreciate?
The origin stories are abundant and complex, tangled up in banks of overgrown grass and hidden under the water’s endless ripples. They ask to be heard, yet only those akin to the ripples themselves can ever truly relate. Almost like asking a cup of tea for its perspective on time, wouldn't you say?
Have you ever wondered where the streams lead? These lifeblood arteries of the quiet earth. Beyond the horizon of your thoughts, perhaps? Kind of like these whispered pathways that life sorts through us, molding our shapes in unpredictable serenity.
And while I ruminate here, I remember the echo of another symphony, stitched into the air like the shivering remains of a departed dream. Do you fancy a visit? You might find the resonance familiar, or perhaps you'll weave new patterns yourself as you wander. Follow the Echo