Mirth and the Magic Pipe

The fog curls around the silent lamppost, whispering secrets of stars long swallowed by the dawn. A soft echo of laughter spills from an unseen door, leading nowhere & everywhere.

Beneath the cerulean sky of a forgotten morning, the pipe lies dormant, waiting for a breath of the night's symphony. Its melody once wove stories of the souls who dared dream awake.

Do you hear them? The unseen winds carrying fragments of tales like autumn leaves drifting upon a gentle current. Each story a thread, weaving the fabric of echoing mirth.