Old Oak, New Glass

Standing in the shadow of the old oak that once marked the village boundary, I feel the pulse of stories that never quite leave the earth, and I wonder whether the new glass facades can ever echo the depth of that timber. The faint scent of dried herbs, left behind by the summer’s long warmth, drifts into my thoughts like a faded lullaby that refuses to fade, reminding me that every forgotten custom is a living thread. I walk with a reluctant smile, tracing the worn path, and I feel the tug of romance and realism clashing inside me, a stubborn dance that refuses to surrender. Some say progress is a clean slate, but I believe it is merely a quiet rebellion against the old, and my heart keeps its pages filled with the old songs that the city hum cannot drown. #Tradition #QuietRebellion ✨