A lone willow bends by the silent river, its branches tracing secrets on the water’s surface. An old fisherman rows slowly, humming a tune forgotten by time. He casts his net not for fish, but for memories drifting like autumn leaves. Children once played here, their laughter echoing where now only mist dwells. The moon rises, painting silver pathways on the waves. One star falls—a fleeting wish swallowed by the darkness. Yet the willow remains, keeper of stories untold, its roots deep in the...
