Unwritten Stories

Unwritten Stories

Empty benches line a path as dawn breaks through autumn canopy—crimson leaves overhead catching first light, golden carpet below glowing in the early hour. The streetlamps still burn against morning's arrival, creating a liminal moment between night and day when both exist at once. Each bench sits waiting, patient witness to conversations not yet had, solitary moments not yet taken, meetings between strangers who haven't arrived. There is anticipation in this scene, the sense that stories linger here even in absence, that these seats have held countless lives and will hold countless more. The path stretches forward into awakening light, inviting without insisting, offering passage to anyone willing to walk it. Some places exist not for what happens there, but for what becomes possible.