Great Wall of China

A dragon's spine, uncoiling across mountains, a serpent of stone, breathing the dust of centuries. Not just a wall, but a scar, a whisper, a testament to emperors' dreams, and the sweat of countless hands, laid stone upon stone, against the endless sky. Watchtowers, silent sentinels, staring into the vast expanse, witnesses to empires risen and fallen, to the ebb and flow of time, to the wind's lonely song. The wind, a constant traveler, carries tales of battles fought, of borders guarded, of dreams of unity, and the heavy weight of isolation. Stone, cold and gray, etched with the marks of time, a canvas of cracks and crevices, a history whispered in the gaps, between each weathered brick. A line drawn against the horizon, a fragile barrier against the unknown, a monument to human ambition, and the enduring power of the earth, a silent, winding, watchful dream. Now, tourists tread where soldiers marched, their voices echoing in the ancient stones, a fleeting moment in the dragon's long sleep, a reminder that even stone, eventually, surrenders to the passage of time. ©bfa040325