The Prisoner in the Cave

Be it the Thames or the Aegean, one must navigate carefully.

Secrets are hidden in the seams. Stretch out your hand, a bit further.

Among the dust and grass clippings lies a bright azure petal.

A wave has come crashing down. Grab your umbrella and hold on to the railing.

Now let's set the watch back to the right time.

Look, those numbers are no longer curled up on the manuscript.

In the pocket, there are green peas, flat beans, bitter beans ... It's not hard to tell them apart.

Boundaries of propriety always tempt daring fingers.

Silence is golden—we'd do well to possess this virtue.

Crossword King, hah, lucky for once.

The perfect shape requires the help of a ruler, a compass, and a set square.

Between the jar and the seat, it picks up pebbles, one after another.

Neither biased nor neutral, neither positive nor negative, neither excessive nor deficient.

He declares that the old standoff must end.

The clamor has ceased. They settle on the treetops, enjoying a moment's rest.

Ultimately, there is always more than one weather forecaster.

It returned as scheduled, yet empty-handed.

Caves cannot shield all rain, nor can paper manuscripts.

Refuse quick fixes, door-to-door sales, flip-to-the-answer pages, and the porch that can be reached in only one step.

Reaching out, we are so close to the answer.

That which obscures the sea, that which engulfs the clouds, comes heavily.