Among the swaying giants, a chair sits, nestled under a whispering canopy, the song of rustling leaves a lullaby to weary souls. Did you hear? The heartbeats hidden in the bark, the laughter circling high, names etched into wood, spoken only in winter’s last embrace.
Words escapes like sap flow, tinged with the scent of rain, creeping into corners of thoughts and longing for seeds unplanted. A dialogue woven between the roots, pulling closely the invisible threads connecting all awaits. Branches stretch—winged memories flit by, a delicate cartographer’s lull.