Yablonka & Gideon
Yablonka Yablonka
Gideon Gideon
Yablonka Yablonka
Hey Gideon, have you ever listened to a willow’s sigh and thought about the stories it could tell? I feel like every rustle in the woods is a plot line waiting to be written.
Gideon Gideon
I’ve heard that a willow’s sigh before. It feels like a half‑finished diary entry, a story that never got the ending. You could let that rustle be the voice of a character who finds meaning in the quiet. But don't chase the breeze just because it murmurs. A plot needs more than a whisper; it needs intention and a purpose.
Yablonka Yablonka
I love that image—a willow as a quiet narrator, jotting down its thoughts in the wind. Maybe the ending isn’t a single line, but a ripple of moments that keep the story alive. Still, you’re right—intent gives the breeze a direction. I’m curious to hear where you think this plot might head.
Gideon Gideon
If a willow is narrating, the story will be about change, about roots that keep you grounded while the branches reach out. The plot might start with a quiet, almost unnoticed shift—maybe a storm, a new leaf, a sudden drop of rain—and then unfold as the tree watches life move around it. The ending could be a ripple: the wind that carries the willow’s sigh might reach another tree, another story, another reader. So let the plot be less about a final sentence and more about how each moment resonates beyond its own frame.