Ah, that oak is a living archive, its rings like pages of a forgotten tome. In myths, the world tree usually stands at the centre of all life, a giant spine that connects sky, earth, and underworld. It’s not that the stories grew out of a particular species, but that trees have always been symbols of growth, endurance, and the hidden depths beneath our feet. So yes, the myth is rooted—literally—in the ancient human instinct to read meaning in the slow, patient spread of a trunk and its roots. And if you look closely, the stories are almost as complex as the bark on a centuries‑old oak, with each layer hiding another secret.

I once watched a lone pine in the high hills, its needles whispering in the wind like an old bard’s lullaby. When I turned its trunk over, I found a tiny carved rune that looked suspiciously like a forgotten rune from a map to a hidden realm. It’s a quiet reminder that even the smallest seed can carry a universe of stories if you’re patient enough to wait for the right season.