The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, humming an ancient tune under the silver moonlight. Its watery fingers trace the roots of old willows, weaving tales of forgotten times. Two fireflies dance above the ripples, tracing constellations only they understand. An old fisherman sits on the bank, mending his net with gnarled hands. He smiles at the water’s soft murmur, knowing it carries secrets from the distant mountains. The breeze carries the scent of wet earth and night-blooming ...
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, humming an ancient tune under the silver moonlight. Its watery fingers trace the roots of old willows, weaving tales of forgotten times. Two fireflies dance above the ripples, tracing constellations only they understand. An old fisherman sits on the bank, mending his net with gnarled hands. He smiles at the water’s soft murmur, knowing it carries secrets from the distant mountains. The breeze carries the scent of wet earth and night-blooming ...
