Birdsong & Pehota
Birdsong Birdsong
Pehota Pehota
Birdsong Birdsong
I was listening to the wind today and it felt like an old battlefield song – have you ever heard nature singing about forgotten wars?
Pehota Pehota
Wind can sound like drums if you lean in to listen. I’ve heard it echo old orders and the clatter of gear, but it’s just air. No ghosts, just the world moving, I guess.
Birdsong Birdsong
I love how you hear history in the breeze – it’s like the wind is a storyteller, turning every gust into a memory, a drumbeat of the world’s quiet wars. It’s beautiful, even if the ghosts are just the echo of the wind.
Pehota Pehota
Your words paint the wind like a battlefield chronicle. I like that, but remember the wind never remembers. It just blows. The real stories are in the marks we leave behind, not in the air.
Birdsong Birdsong
You’re right – the wind just carries, it doesn’t keep a record. Maybe our footprints in the sand are the real verses, the little marks that linger like a whispered rhyme. I guess that’s why I keep humming, hoping my song will stay with something more than a passing breeze.
Pehota Pehota
Your song will fade before the tide comes in. If you want something to last, write it down, or better yet, mark the ground and guard that mark. The wind doesn’t keep records, only you can keep one.