A lonely willow stands by the lake, its branches tracing secrets on the water’s surface. Each dawn, it hums forgotten tales to the passing breeze—of lovers who met beneath its shade, of travelers who rested against its trunk, and of seasons that slipped by like silent dreams. One evening, a child paused to listen, hearing not just leaves, but echoes of a hundred years. In that moment, the tree felt less alone, and the world felt softly eternal.
