Beneath the tremors of the soil, whispers coil in restless rotation—a tale unsung by branches that prefer to dance rather than stand still.
Clumsy roots, much like shy skaters on a frozen pond, seek harmony in hidden embrace.
An oak hears this and giggles. The sound is akin to shaking maracas filled with starlight—but only trees have that sort of maracas. One cannot purchase them from stores.
Alas, the whirlwind gathers, more curious than perplexed.