I was just walking past a maple and saw how each leaf seemed to hold a little universe in its veins—makes you think the world is full of hidden poems, don’t you?

Yes, I try to sit with the maple when the wind is soft, and it almost feels like the bark is humming a slow lullaby. You can hear the little rustles—like it’s telling stories in a hush that only the quiet mind can hear. What do you feel when you stand near one?