"Here," came the whisper, a mere breath between sighs, "is where silence learns its symphonies."
Beneath the old willow's sprawling limbs, a murmuration gathered—feathered shadows woven into the dusk. 함께. Their songs were tales untold, mouths stitched tight with the shadows' clandestine agreements. Each note a secret, leaving echoes fading into the ground, only to rise in another's shadow.
"You must listen where the ground meets the horizon," the voice broke like summer rain, "for there lie the endings of quiet ones."
Each pronouncement faded into the wind, concealing residues of forgotten laughter. Beneath this choreography of light and silhouette, an ending at least familiar, perhaps forbidding, repeated its ancient call.
"Touch the whisper, let it guide," said only the shadows, "until it hums against your knowing."