A babbling brook winds through the emerald valley, its gentle murmur a timeless song. For centuries, it has witnessed seasons change, from blossoms in spring to crimson leaves in autumn. Travelers often pause by its banks to rest, listening to the water’s soft tales of distant mountains and passing clouds. One summer afternoon, a young poet sat beside it, dipping his brush into the cool water. He tried to capture its essence in verse, but the brook simply laughed, rippling with light. “Why co...
