Imagine this.
The wind has no shape, but every leaf knows it has passed.
One leaf trembles, then another, as if nothing had happened.
But stand beneath the tree, and you’ll feel it —
a faint, unspoken chill.
The wind says nothing,
but the tree can’t help but reply.
Sometimes, the wind moves with urgency,
sweeping up leaves in a quiet storm of departure.
Other times, it hides in the shadow of the branches,
waiting until you turn away to slip past unseen.
You’ve felt this before, haven’t you?
A sudden feeling with no warning.
It stirs just a little at first —
but one ripple calls another.
You try to still it,
but the more you watch,
the farther the waves spread.
The water becomes calm,
not because you made it calm,
but because you stopped looking.
The wind moves on.
The water rests.
The tree stands silent.
But is it really silent?
Listen.
Every leaf whispers like a breath in your ear,
like a dream that refuses to end.
You want to know where the wind comes from.
You want to know when it will leave.
But the tree doesn’t ask.
The wind moves on.
The tree remains.