whispers from the ancient roots
"To understand, one must listen,
to the sound of bark growing
through the passing seasons.
The wind carries truths
not yet spoken by man,
encrypted in a language
older than words, yet
innately familiar."

small tendrils reaching out,
yearning for the midday sun,
their cosmic dance
a symphony of silence
that speaks volumes
in a dialect of the forgotten.

ponder the roots,
deep and winding,
connecting all
that is seen,
to all
that is unseen.

"What do the oldest trees
say, when no one listens?"