The trees are glass reflections; their leaves, mirrors reflecting forgotten selves.
Do you remember whispers in the wind? Not words, but echoes of dreams past and future. Stand still, and you shall see.
In the corridor of branches, each step uncovers a leaf turned to opaque glass—reflecting one's secret shnesses and apprehensions of a self unknown and unseen. Forgotten futures await in the rustle of these shimmering glass trees.