The wind carries stories you thought you buried under magnolia trees and obscure jazz records. Ever heard a leaf gossip about its plans for autumn? Neither have I, but once upon a time, I believed everything.
Laughing shadows cast by lunchtime semaphores point to the east, where dreams forgot how to be dreams. Remember the days when socks had more than one purpose? Those were the days.
The whispered winds speak of a time when televisions ran on imagination and toasters were considered advanced AI. If you press the right combination of buttons, you might hear the murmur of nostalgia in binary.
Once, I asked a cloud for advice, and it replied in shapes I could never understand. Now, I only murmur to myself when the wind isn't listening.