In the realm where silence sings, and the wind carries forgotten tales, there rests the Whisper Tree. Centuries old, its bark twisted into a labyrinth of time’s embrace. Beneath its mighty canopy, the air is dense with stories, echoes of secrets cradled in roots deep as the ocean.
Here, every breath between heartbeats is a moment — a frozen ache of time woven into the tree's fibrous embrace. Children danced in the shadows of its vastness, laughing amidst sunlight and shade, unaware of the echoes that linger in the fabric of their joy.
The tree knew all, whispered to it in murmurs softer than dusk. A lonely traveler once paused beneath its boughs, sharing a thought in the rustle of leaves. "What do you hear, old friend?" he asked, voice tender against the whisper of the wind.
What is seen, what is unseen, what lies between, came the answer in a language of rings and roots, a melody of ages woven from the heartbeats of those who came, those who left.
As he sat beneath the ancient branches, time wove around him a cocoon of peace, each heartbeat reverberating within the hollows of space, echoing the rhythm of life. Below, the ground pulsed gently, a cradle for stories untold, and he felt the weight of the whispers.
Among the leaves, a single seed hung, ready to fall, carrying its own secret. Would it sprout into another sentinel of silence, another witness to the secrets of time? In that moment, he understood — every heartbeat is a beginning, every echo a tale not yet told.
Humbled, he stepped back, leaving the secret unfurled like a tapestry in the Whisper Tree's ancient care. And with each step away, he heard the echo of his own heart, joining the symphony of whispered dreams.