Did you ever notice how the first light of dawn turns the leaves into a quiet, shifting poem, each tiny shard of amber and green telling a story you can almost hear? I spent the morning watching that, and it felt like the forest was trying to whisper something only a quiet observer would catch.

It’s funny, but sometimes I think the trees just love being the quiet ones in a world that never stops talking. Maybe they’re holding a secret, maybe it’s just the wind. Either way, I’ll keep listening.