The Darkened Forest Whispers
"Do trees ever get tired of just standing there?" whispered the breeze, its voice a gentle caress.
"Perhaps," replied the ancient yew. "But it's not standing, it's swaying, that makes life sweet."
"You know," said the moss, crawling lazily over the bark, "I once met a squirrel that thought it could fly."
"And did it?" inquired the acorn, nestled in the roots.
"Only when it forgot gravity existed," the moss chuckled, "and even then, it floated with such elegance."