From the fragrant tapestries of the morning dew, the clouds emerge, swirling and spinning, in a delicate pas de deux across the azure canvas. Each misty plume, a whisper from the void, narrates tales of dreams deferred yet intimately remembered; like a lover's smile hovering just beyond reach.
In their graceful choreography, there's a rhythm both alien and familiar, stirring the heart to an ancient memory of silence too grand to name. Below, the earth holds its breath, as if caught in the embrace of a forgotten waltz, echoing through the corridors of time.