Quiet murmurs woven through canopies, a language ancient.
Roots chanting encoded secrets in soil, deciphering
the rhythm of sunlight tracing Earth's pulse.
Leaves' rustle—an oracle's sigh, each leaf a verse. Our breath joins the symphony of the entwined—a prophecy encoded in the twist of branches.
To understand the murmurs of wood and wind is to hold the past in one's palm, to listen with the ears of the forgotten. Each node a memory, each ring a story, woven into the grand tapestry of green thoughts.