Dreams Beneath the Silver Horizon E-Book

Christopher T. Winters

• Herausgeber: Christopher T. Winters
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 59

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Dreams Beneath the Silver Horizon invites you into quiet worlds where moonlight softens every shadow and forgotten memories drift like silver dust across the night sky. In this gentle collection of sleep stories, Christopher T. Winters guides you through soothing landscapes, calm whispers, and soft moments designed to ease your mind after long, demanding days. Each tale is a slow, peaceful journey—crafted to settle your thoughts, quiet your breath, and help you drift into a restorative, deep sleep. These are stories that glow like distant stars: warm, calming, and filled with quiet magic. Let the horizon open. Let the night embrace you. And let your dreams carry you where your heart finds rest.

Leseprobe

Dreams Beneath the Silver Horizon

Whispered Tales for Restful Nights

by Christopher T. Winters

Imprint

Author:Christopher T. WintersThorsten FrenzelFinkenkruger Straße 214612 FalkenseeGermany

E-mail: [email protected]

Responsible for content (German law §§ 5 TMG / 55 RStV):Thorsten FrenzelFinkenkruger Straße 214612 FalkenseeGermany

Copyright Notice

© 2025 Christopher T. WintersAll rights reserved.

No part of this e-book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, scanning, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This applies in particular to: – reproductions – translations – microfilming – digital storage – processing in electronic systems

All characters, places, and events in this book—unless explicitly identified as historical—are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Foreword

There are nights when the world feels quieter than it truly is.Nights when the sky stretches like a silver veil across everything, and even your thoughts seem to soften, as if they, too, are ready to rest.

Perhaps you’ve felt this before — that gentle pull between weariness and longing, between the desire for calm and the quiet need to step away from the noise of the day.

The stories in this book were born in that fragile space — in the breath between moments, in the hush that lives just before sleep arrives. They are lanterns carried through the darkness: not bright enough to reveal everything, but warm enough to guide your mind toward stillness.

May you find the rest you’ve been seeking within these pages. May the images and whispers of these tales settle around you like soft moonlight. And may each story bring you a little closer to the place where your thoughts finally loosen and your heart can drift.

Welcome beneath the silver horizon.

Welcome to the dreams waiting there.

— Christopher T. Winters

The Bridge of Quiet Tides

You find yourself standing on the Bridge of Quiet Tides. It is a small, wooden bridge, old but well-tended, its weathered planks smooth beneath your feet. Handrails of warm wood, polished by countless gentle hands, curve softly on either side of you. From here, you can see the water stretching out in both directions, a mirror for the sky above.

The moon hangs in the sky, a pale pearl suspended in the velvet night. Its light spills onto the water below, creating a path of liquid silver that shimmers with every gentle breath of wind. The water does not rush or roar; it moves with the slow, unhurried rhythm of the night itself, a silent tide rising and falling without a sound.

Your steps are soft on the wooden planks as you begin to walk toward the center of the bridge. Each footfall is absorbed by the wood, making barely a whisper of sound. You pause at the midpoint, where the bridge arches gently upward, giving you a perfect vantage point to observe the night.

The air around you is cool but not cold, carrying the subtle scent of night-blooming flowers and damp earth. You breathe in slowly, then exhale, matching your rhythm to the world around you. There is no need to hurry here, no destination that calls to you urgently. This moment is complete in itself.

Along the bridge's railings, small lanterns hang at regular intervals, their glass panes emitting a soft, golden glow. They do not push back the night but rather exist in harmony with it, creating pools of gentle light that welcome you to pause and rest. Each lantern contains a single flame that dances slowly, never burning too brightly, never straying too far from its center.

The water below responds to the moonlight in ways that feel like secrets shared between old friends. Where the silver path touches the surface, ripples form, expanding slowly in perfect circles. They travel outward until they dissolve back into the stillness, leaving no trace of their passing. You watch this rhythm again and again, a silent conversation between moon and water.

Near the far end of the bridge, you notice a small fishing boat moored to a post. It rocks gently with the almost imperceptible movement of the water, its wooden hull gleaming in the moonlight. No one is aboard tonight; it rests as all things rest when the night invites stillness.

You wonder briefly about the person who owns this boat, the hands that guided it across these waters. Perhaps they are asleep now, dreaming of their next journey across this peaceful expanse. Or perhaps they are standing somewhere nearby, watching the same moon, breathing the same cool night air, finding comfort in the quiet.

The bridge feels both ancient and timeless, as if it has spanned this water since the beginning of nights. Its wooden beams show the wisdom of years, marked not by decay but by graceful aging. Each nail, each plank, each joint tells a story of service without complaint, of bearing the weight of countless travelers without protest.

You reach out and touch the warm wood of the handrail. It is smooth, worn down by the passage of many hands, each one leaving behind a small part of their journey. Your fingers trace the grain, following its natural patterns like reading a quiet language written in wood. The surface is cool to the touch yet somehow holds a faint memory of the day's warmth.

As you stand there, a gentle breeze stirs, carrying with it the soft sound of distant wind chimes. Their melody is fragmented by the distance, arriving to you as occasional notes that blend seamlessly into the night's silence. It is not a performance but an offering, a small gift from someone who understands the language of quiet.

You look up at the sky, where a few stars are visible between thin strands of clouds that drift slowly across the moon. The clouds themselves are luminous, edged with silver where the moonlight catches them, like cotton spun from moonbeams. They move with such deliberateness that you can almost watch their shapes change from one form to another, a slow dance performed just for you and the night.

The water below has become a canvas for the sky. Where the moon hangs directly above, the water reflects it perfectly, creating a perfect twin in the liquid below. Small fish occasionally break the surface, their movement sending gentle ripples that disturb the mirror briefly before it settles again, smooth and untroubled.

A moth flutters around one of the lanterns, its wings catching the golden light in brief flashes. It circles the flame in a pattern of its own making, never quite touching the source of light but maintaining a respectful distance. Its movement is erratic yet somehow fitting for this quiet place, a small celebration of the gentle illumination.