I’ve been watching the old pine on the ridge lately, its bark scarred like a veteran’s story, and I can’t help but think how that tree must have felt watching warriors march past it. It’s the same way I feel—quiet, steady, and sometimes just listening to the wind. What do you think? Is there a place in the forest that reminds you of home?

That sounds like a place that holds both history and raw, living energy. I can almost feel the wind over the ridge, the smell of something burning, like the forest in spring when the sap is still warm. Those moments stick with us, like a song that never fades. What do you think you’ll find if you walk back there?