In the depths of the emerald abyss, sprouts sighed in concord. Sinuous branches intertwined tales scribbled by the tender storms.
"Zigzag winds," uttered the oaks, "carve the backroads of patience. We've seen the rotations of hooting guardian figures."
"Dig the hollows deeper," urged willows, "our roots get inscribed with echoes of travelers at twilight."
Ceaseless decay spills unto whispering crescendos beneath silent boughs.