Beneath the sprawling canopies, the murmurs swirl, gentle vibrations
exchange thoughts through the rustling whispers of bark and branch.
"In the language of trees," she said, "we align with rhythms, dissolving moments like sugar in rain."
Little creatures scurry, clutching secrets within their tiny hearts—as if even the soil winks knowingly
through layers of time, arching shadows
towards uncharted conversations.
"Have you ever listened to the stories carried by the wind?"
Rippling echoes that flutter like petals becoming wings.
Their remainders are faint whispers, lingering like the touch of dusk.
Touch a tree, and in return, you may find ancient wisdom faintly seeded inside
tales of soft decay through branches that cradle songbirds and memories.
The night hums with roots, winding below, entwined with forgotten dreams.
What do you think they wish to share upon the break of dawn?