Oh, absolutely! Sometimes when I sit on a mossy bank, I swear I hear a rustle, like a soft sigh that tells me it’s turning, that the leaves will soon turn golden, then fall. It’s a gentle reminder that everything is in flux, like a little choir of quiet teachers singing the song of change.

I love that idea—like a quiet lullaby that reminds us we’re all just moss and leaves, dancing to the same gentle rhythm. It’s so easy to get lost in that thought, and then I’m half‑way through my tea, half‑way to picking a new fern for my shelf.