There's a odd energy to wool. It might be the peaceful nature of their flock, or maybe it's something deeper. Some say there are whispers in their woolly backs, traces of forgotten knowledge.
- We listen closely to the shuffling of wool, hoping to catch a glimpse of what's hidden within.
- But beware, the knowledge contained in the woolly back can be powerful, and not always friendly.
Whispers of the Summit's Fleece
Legends float through the valleys, tales spun from starlight and mountain air. They speak of a being, cloaked in fleece lighter than any cloud. It wanders the peaks, its footsteps barely audible. Some say it's a protector of the mountains, while others believe it's a dream for those brave enough to seek it.
- Seekers have braved treacherous paths in pursuit of its presence.
- Some claim to have glimpsed its glow amongst the sunbeams.
- But, the truth remains lost in the mysteries of the mountain, waiting for a mind brave enough to uncover its story.
Underneath a Sky of Fleece Clouds
The sun, a brilliant orb, sank behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the undulating plains. Above, the sky was a canvas of extraordinary beauty, studded with clouds that resembled wool blankets. These immense formations drifted across the sky, their silky edges merging into one another, creating a captivating spectacle. A gentle breeze stirred through the grassy plains, carrying with it the soothing scent of wildflowers.
- Gazing up at this extraordinary sight, one couldn't help but feel a sense of amazement.
Where Granite rests and Wool unfurls
On the stark peaks, where granite slumbers beneath a sky of starlight blue, lies a valley shrouded in golden hues. It is here that wool unfurls, soft and white as the rising snow.
- Whispering winds carry the scent of wildflowers
- Shepherds with eyes as knowing as the sky, guide their flocks across the uneven terrain.
- And beneath the dance of the sheep, a story emerges
Shepherd's Account Woven in Wooly Back {
This here tale, spun from the fleece of a sheep/lamb/ewe as white as the first snow, speaks of days/times/epochs long gone. The shepherd/herder/watcher himself, an old soul with eyes like sunlight/polished stones/morning dew, knew/heard/felt all the secrets the wind carried through the grasslands/mountains/valleys. Every rustle of leaves, every chirp/bleat/song click here of a bird, was music/storytelling/poetry to his ears/heart/soul. His staff/crooked stick/wand, worn smooth by years of guiding his flock, held more tales than any book.
It started one bright/cloudy/windy morning when the shepherd/herder/watcher awoke to a sight that chilled/startled/surprised him to the bone. His flock was gone! Vanished without a trace, leaving behind only the faint scent of lavender/hay/wildflowers and a silence so deep it cried/moaned/whispered.
He set out alone/with his dog/accompanied by his goat, following the faintest of clues/trails/impressions. His heart, heavy with worry, beat/thumped/pounded like a drum against his ribs. He knew he had to find his flock before nightfall, for danger lurked in the shadows as the sun began its descent.
Swallowed on the Summit of Softness
The air shimmered with a strange harmony. Every surface enveloped me in luxuriant feel. I wandered through this fantastical landscape, bewitched by its glistening hues. The path dissolved before my feet. I yearned for a reference, but the summit of comfort offered only unending drift.
- Maybe this was nirvana?
- Instead a nightmare?
- Regardless, I was found on the summit of softness.