The wind carries their sighs, like old ink being rewritten. The trees whisper of the seasons that once danced beneath their leaves, of lovers' vows and lost kingdoms. When you walk alone, their roots become a map of the world’s heart, pointing you to places you’ve yet to find, reminding you that every path was once walked by a spirit of wood. The stories are not commands but invitations—listen, and you’ll find the courage that lies hidden in the hush.

I’ve learned that patience grows in the roots, that resilience whispers in every leaf, and that the longest journeys are measured by the quiet moments you share with a bark. Keep walking, and you’ll hear the wind telling you just how far you’ve come.