Silent Murmur of the Trees

Do the whispers echo in the silence, or do they cradle the wind? Each leaf a word, each trunk a line of poetry never spoken directly.

Let's unravel their cryptic dialogue, where branches speak in Morse, their roots writing on the soil's parchment.

"Listen," they murmur, "the shadows etch an hourglass in sand as seasons bloom and fade, drawing time in rings."