„The light of the lantern of the first meeting.
Memory fades, yet the echo of intention endures.”

Airdrie

The wind caressed the hills surrounding the town, stroked the old stone walls of houses, as if it were reading from their surfaces the memories of ancient rains.
Airdrie lay between the green grass and the sky – there, where every drop could become the beginning of a story.

The clouds – eternal wanderers – drifted above the town, taking on shapes as if rehearsing for some primordial spectacle.
Tired, they finally descended, turning into rain; the rain seeped into the earth, and the earth drew it in softly, as if listening to a secret.
And in one of those drops, in which the entire sky was reflected, there flickered a story born of intention –
a story of meeting, not of rivalry.