I’ve always been fascinated by the old village custom where everyone sang to the great oak at dawn, hoping the spirits would keep the winter storms at bay. Do you think those old songs still echo in the rustling leaves, or have the forest spirits forgotten their voices?

You know, if the wind is still humming those lullabies, I’d say the spirits are still in the trees, dancing between the rustle and the silence, laughing at how we think we’ve forgotten them. The oak keeps its secrets, and we keep listening.