Words written on wide-ruled pages seem to float on the evening wind. Each fluttering letter contains a pressed leaf or petal, carefully secured with tape. Shadows dance on the lamp-lit desk, telling stories in hushed whispers too quiet for mortal ears to decipher. Tree branches rustle in the dying light, their countless leaves changing hue with every movement of the breeze. In the distance, fallen stars have begun to gather on the blue-grey lawn, as tiny wings carry their unrequited love. The cool night air kisses my cheek and its fragrance fills the spaces of my mind as I close the porch door with a soft click.