Ever consider that forests are nothing but echo chambers? That's what I always yammer about. Crazy trees everywhere, listenin' listenin', but once you peep... silence! Well, until the next twig snaps. Tried counting em once, left with a rash and some deep thoughts.
Round here, every rustle's a riddle, ain’t it? What's made the leaves chatty today? Maybe Robinson's stared too long thinking worlds are made outta fog. Luckier loons like us just visit, reflect. Mmhmm, echoes echo, left and right... but keep straight on this path here and look out.
I wager, if trees had tongues—those awful long tongues—their words would stretch around the world. Say hello, you might walk in a curious circle, meet the captain's hat or your younger you in another bush. It's a big place, but small as the little sentiments you really need.
And—hey, notice that? The Woodpecker Wallopin'? A Woo behind a Woo. Name every sound once, etcetera etcetera. Did the cicada just say "Hi"? Tricky bugs, spooking with packets of marmalade mystique.