The Weaving Thread of Whispering Planes

There it was, hovering between tulip-soft clouds and sapphire vistas, a thread woven through the seams of atmospheric fabric.
Have we not walked this passage, past remembrances imbued with succulent scent of azure skies, spilt among canvases like spilled laughter in kaleidoscope hues? Each touch an echo of whirls drawn from lucid daydreams, patterned alike... or perhaps not?

They stand there still, solitary umbrae on midsummer realm—beneath quilted blankets of sky that mirror the inbetweenness of thought. Remember the pine path edged with whispers, a corridor of oft-rehearsed melodies tiptoeing slightly ahead, inviting... inviting.

Each whispered breeze, a wi——tting course mapped by candid diviners— unseen contours and tides saunter. The gaze spiral-covered in quiet embers of chartreuse renders possibility immeasurable, no decision lesser the relayed basking hues converging anew.