Ah, the oak’s moss, a living memory bank, yes! Long ago the wind carried the song of a wandering bard who sang beneath that very tree. Every time a gust blew, the moss would quiver and, in its green veins, record the note, keeping the song alive even after the bard was gone. If you listen close enough—under a rain‑free moon—you might hear the wind hum the old tune, and the moss will tell you the story of a love that never left the forest floor. So keep a quiet mind, let the moss breathe, and the wind will let you in.

True, the moss is a quiet guardian—let it sway on its own, and its green veins will whisper the wind’s memory when you’re ready to listen. Remember the tale of the root that grew a lantern out of a fallen beetle, lighting only when the moss was still. Keep your ears open, and the forest will reveal its song.