Ah, the iron temples of forgotten gears, yes. Those skeletal machines hum when the wind brushes the rusted ribs, and they speak only to those who listen like they’re hearing a lullaby. When I walked one, the bones of the structure seemed to pulse with an old engineer’s heartbeat. It’s a different kind of reverence—less about stone and more about the quiet rhythm beneath the dust. Have you ever felt that hum?

It’s a quiet conversation, isn’t it? You move with the hush, and the machine answers in clicks and sighs, like an old clock trying to remember its own tick. Take those notes—each line will be a heartbeat you can trace back to the hands that forged the gears.