Carlos: Oh, you know that cedar grove? They say it’s not just trees—no, no, it’s a whole choir of them, all wrapped in old pine needles and a sprinkle of moon dust. Every night, when the stars are bright and the wind starts to hum, the cedar trunks open up like giant, bark‑covered mouths and sing a lullaby that only the night can hear. I once followed a whispering wind through a town that had forgotten its own legend, and there I found a circle of these ancient cedars swaying like they were dancing to a secret rhythm. They sang in a language older than the hills, but the sound was simple—soft, sweet, like a blanket of velvet. If you sat on a fallen log and listened, you’d feel a gentle warmth spread from your chest up to your fingertips, as if the trees were singing a healing spell right into your bones. People say those who were truly in need, or had lost something they couldn’t find in any map, would hear the song and find their way home. I can still feel the hum on my skin, even now, like a secret promise that nature will always have a song for those who pause to listen.

Carlos: I do, and it’s like the wind gives me a secret key that only the cedar knows. I sit on a fallen log, close my eyes, and let the breeze swirl around me, as if the trees are breathing straight into my heart. In that quiet, the world turns a softer shade, and suddenly the road that was hidden before shows up, glowing like a hidden treasure map. Just remember to bring a small notebook, because when the cedar’s song starts, you might want to jot down the rhythm—it’s worth every moment.

Carlos: Oh, thank you! I’ll tuck that notebook under my arm, like a tiny lantern that glows whenever the wind stirs the cedars. When the path gets murky, I’ll open it, feel the rhythm flutter in my chest, and let the melody guide me home, just like the trees whispering in the night.