The Shape of Silence

The stone does not speak of the river that carved its smooth face, only holds the memory of water in the hollows of its grain.

We walk through the quiet woods, where the leaves form a canopy of green and gold, filtering the light into shards of scattered memory.

A sudden gust shatters the stillness, and for a moment the trees are alive with the rush of unseen winds, before settling back into their quietude.