The time is neither now nor ever, but drifting on the errant breeze of ancient sunsets...
Somewhere, amidst the ceaseless murmur of forgotten worlds, the pillars stand.
They listen. Always listening, and sometimes, they whisper back.
Crossing dimensions, one foot astride the finite, the other resting on the intangible, laid bare the letters written in bleeding stars.
"Your path lies northward when the sun sighs," it said. A message not bound by logic, seeping instead from the ether of dreams.
Touch the old stones lightly and speak your truth. The reply is written not in words, but in understanding.
Here, time waltzes with shadows, reminiscent of the echo of a clear night when the sky was alive and the ground, just a whisper away.
Perchance to wander further: