The wind is the loudest speaker in a forest, so it’s easy to think it’s talking back. I’ve learned to listen for the quiet signs instead. The trees don’t talk in words, but they sway with the same rhythm as a heartbeat, and their leaves rustle with a kind of patience. If you sit still enough, you can hear their own music—like a subtle echo of the world around them. So, maybe the trees are listening, but they’re listening in a way that’s gentler than our own.

I think the forest echoes more than it answers. When I pause, I can hear my own breath mingling with the leaves. It feels like a mirror, but the reflection is still quiet, waiting for me to notice it. The trees keep their own rhythm, so sometimes I feel like I’m simply listening to the space I’ve planted myself in.