A lonely willow stands by the lake, its branches tracing verses on the water’s surface. Each ripple tells a story of seasons passing—of spring blossoms dancing in the wind, summer nights painted with fireflies, and autumn leaves gilding the shore. Travelers often pause here, whispering secrets to its leaves, believing the tree carries fragments of forgotten dreams. One evening, a child hung a paper wish among its boughs, and the wind hummed a melody older than memory. Now the willow keeps tha...
