Drifting Whispers

Between earth and sky, I whispered softly. Whispers, sweet and sour, like candy in the mouth longing for a more familiar taste.

My whispers became glowing dandelions in summer, carried by the wind — telling stories of life, and also of death. Of darkness, because without it, no light can be lit.

I scattered magic dust over a muddy world, so that those walking golden paths could keep going, unafraid —

like a guiding finger woven from quiet whispers about roads, about love, about life itself.