A lone willow bends by the silent river, its branches tracing secrets on the water’s surface. An old fisherman rows slowly, his song blending with the evening breeze. He speaks of mountains that walk in twilight and stars that dance upon the waves. Two children pause on the stone bridge, listening. One catches a falling leaf, its veins mapping forgotten journeys. “The tree remembers,” whispers the fisherman, “what the world has chosen to forget.” Moonlight now stitches silver threads through ...
