In the radiance of twilight, a silver veil quivers, dripping secrets into the crinkled soil. Echoes float, like leaves in autumn, twirling beyond touch, against the wet whispers of the sea. Twilight calls, with fingers inscribed in invisible ink.
Rabbits in top hats, casting no shadows, laugh at silence stranded in reef's embrace. Memory unfolds as a crumpled map, ink faded from the sun; the cove cradles every heartbeat, an unspoken promise cradled in foam.
A constellation of shimmering ripples buries the cries of soft-crashing surf, while ghosts of seagulls dance above in circular flights. The golden hour curates space where time ceases to exist, and hidden cities awaken beneath the pulsing azure depths.