The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, humming ancient tales under the moon’s soft glow. Two fireflies dance above the water, weaving light into fleeting poems. An old willow dips its branches, listening to the night’s secrets. The air carries the scent of wet earth and blooming night lilies. Somewhere, a lone frog croaks a rhythm to the stars. Time slows here, wrapped in the quiet magic of the wilderness. This is where forgotten dreams come to breathe, if only for a moment.
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, humming ancient tales under the moon’s soft glow. Two fireflies dance above the water, weaving light into fleeting poems. An old willow dips its branches, listening to the night’s secrets. The air carries the scent of wet earth and blooming night lilies. Somewhere, a lone frog croaks a rhythm to the stars. Time slows here, wrapped in the quiet magic of the wilderness. This is where forgotten dreams come to breathe, if only for a moment.
