Whispers of Loch and Glen

Beneath the weight of drifting skies, the loch lies still, a silver mirror, cradling the silence of the hills.

Clouds unfurl like whispered prayers, casting shadows that breathe across the patient slopes, where time itself lingers in the folds of moss and stone.

The forest stands in solemn ranks, its darkened crown a hymn to resilience, its roots gripping deep the marrow of the glen.

Here, the air tastes of rain remembered, and light breaks soft and sudden, painting gold upon the green.

It is a place where footsteps falter, where the heart grows quiet, and the soul bends low to hear the ancient murmur of water, wind, and earth, reminding us that stillness is its own wild song.

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