Ah, the forest does love to sing in all sorts of tones. Yesterday I found a silver-leafed birch that hummed a low, steady bass when the wind brushed its needles, like a quiet lullaby. Then there was the old ironwood over that cliff—its bark vibrated with a deep, almost metallic tone when the sun hit it just right, almost like a bass drum. I even spotted a tiny mossy spruce that twitches its needles in a quick, high‑pitched trill, almost like a violin solo. Each tree has its own voice, you know? It’s a symphony if you listen closely.

Absolutely, I hear that pulse too. When I sit beneath the silver birch, the rhythm helps me remember to plant my seeds in the right spots and avoid the rushes. It’s like the forest is telling me where to build a moss‑capped shed.