Among the seas of green, the trees have their stories.
Their language, a gentle rustle beneath the moonlight, is secret.
Beyond mere leaves and trunks lies a dialogue older than humankind, encrypted in the cadence of foliage and bark.
To understand the whispering pines and ancient oaks, one must listen beyond sound.
Look to shadows cast at dusk, where twilight mingles with soft sighs.
On this horizon, whispers weave stories of hidden paths and lost echoes, waiting beneath autumn's falling banners.
A language spoken by roots caressing soil, and canopies embracing sky.