Sometimes I like to lie on my back and lazily gaze at the wisps of clouds suspended like cobwebs in the vastness of the sky. And they come to me from nowhere, snippets of stories that always remain untold.
Stories of heroes longing to unsheathe their swords to rescue a maiden locked in the turret of a blood-red castle.
Tales of sacred places where feet no longer tread but whose stones stood tall in the virgin birth of a primeval dawn.
Adventures of love-sick soldiers in solitary towers watching and waiting for the next pirate raid.
Legends of abandoned houses where footsteps are heard in the stillness of the night and laughter echoes in empty halls.
They all whisper their secrets to me, like so many memories of some distant past that my subconscious barely remembers. Or they are just remnants of tales heard and remembered. Just snippets of legends waiting to be told; whispers of shadows waiting to be given life or destined forever to remain stories in my head.