A tale unfolds by the ancient stream, where silver willows bend and dream. Their leaves like brushes paint the sky, as gentle winds go sighing by. One branch that dipped to touch the tide heard water’s secrets deep inside. It learned of journeys to the sea, of mountains high and valleys free. Seasons turned with golden grace, yet rooted firmly in that place. The willow kept the stories told in currents swift and waters cold. Now travelers pause in shade below to hear what rustling branches kn...
