Karabas & Bamboo
Karabas Karabas
Bamboo Bamboo
Karabas Karabas
I heard a tale long ago about the forest spirits that guard the oldest trees, their whispers echoing through the wood. Do you see their presence in the trees we try to save today?
Bamboo Bamboo
I do hear those whispers, the wind nudging the bark like an old friend. The spirits aren’t just stories; they’re the quiet pulse of each sapling that still breathes. When we stand beside those towering guardians and pledge to protect them, we’re listening to their chorus, whether we call it myth or the subtle call of nature itself.
Karabas Karabas
Yes, the wind is a gentle mouth that has told many tales for centuries, and if you close your ears a bit, it sings even to the newest sapling. We who walk beside the old oaks often feel the same hum, like a lullaby the forest has hummed since the first stones were set. It is not merely myth; it is the rhythm that keeps the soil alive. In these moments we remember that our pledges are not just words but an offering to that same pulse, to the living memory of the wood. We should carry that whisper into our gardens and into our cities, so the chorus does not fade when the next generation steps forward.
Bamboo Bamboo
I hear that hum too, even when the city hum is louder. Imagine a rooftop garden humming like a quiet drumbeat—nature’s lullaby in the concrete jungle. If we plant a few trees and let them grow, we’re turning those whispers into a living chorus. Just make sure the plants get their own little wind; otherwise, it’ll be a dead beat. Keep listening, keep planting.
Karabas Karabas
What a nice image, a rooftop drumbeat of green against steel. The wind will always find a way, but we must be careful, like placing a stone in a stream—too many or too few can break the rhythm. Plant in shallow, sturdy pots, give them a bit of sun, and let the city’s chatter pass over them, not drown them. The city is loud, but a single tree can still sing if we make sure the roots know the ground, the leaves feel the light, and the soil remembers the rain. Keep the little wind, and the chorus will grow.