In the language of trees, silence speaks volumes. A whisper of wind through leaves tells stories untold, histories encrypted within countless rings.
The voids reflect not absence, but presence unseen: roots entwined in forgotten realms, reaching for truths beneath the earth's skin.
Count the leaves, if you can, but remember: each leaf is a question, and every forest a chapter in the endless book of shadows.
To gaze into the canopy is to ponder the infinite. The trees remember what we forget, their memories held in the bark, the branches, the dance of their boughs.