Beneath the quiet soil,
a whisper began —
a thought, a pulse,
a promise of green.
Darkness pressed close,
but the seed did not fear.
It dreamed of light
it had never seen.
Raindrops carved lullabies,
roots reached like questions,
and the earth answered
with warmth and patience.
Tiny veins of life
threaded through stone —
seeking, stretching,
becoming.
Then came the dawn.
A crack. A shimmer.
The first breath of wind
touched its newborn leaf.
Days turned into songs,
nights folded into years.
The trunk grew firm,
rings marking stories
of every storm survived.
Birds nested,
children rested,
seasons painted and erased.
It watched lovers meet,
rivers shift,
mountains sleep and wake again.
And though it never moved,
it traveled —
through memory,
through generations,
through air and time.
Its branches reached
for the endless sky,
yet its roots held the heartbeat
of the world below.
Now it stands —
not just wood and leaf,
but everything it has ever seen,
everything it has ever been.
When the wind hums through,
listen closely —
you may hear yourself there,
growing,
changing,
becoming whole.
