A tale unfolds by the silent stream, where an ancient willow’s branches gleam. It’s said that when the west wind blows, the tree shares secrets nobody knows. One evening, a lonely traveler sat beneath its leaves, burdened by regrets life weaves. The willow whispered through rustling shade, “Even the mightiest oaks were once afraid.” Moonlight painted patterns on the ground as the tree recounted stories without sound—of lovers who met beneath its bough, of seeds that grew despite the plough. D...
