The One Where The Tree Whispers
It is eight o’clock.
In the middle of a grassy field stands a tree. Its branches move like a clock ticking the time away, and its leaves rustle in the wind and whisper magic-filled goodbyes.
Under this tree, there lies a book, one with pages full of handwritten words and ink stains. The lines are filled with overflowing sadness and hidden anger. It has secrets spilling from the seems it's bound with.
This notebook has been there for ages, though it has never been found, hidden under brownish leaves and fallen branches.
It is now ten o’clock, please hurry up.
Other trees have come and gone, but this one, this mighty tree stands steadily and bravely defies any storm that comes its way.
During the day, the sun illuminates the leaves and turns them to gold.
At night, there are double the stars as there are leaves. The moon colours them silver, this time of night.
As the branches tick to midnight, and the tree falls asleep, the ink-stained notebook turns to a page only the moon will ever see.
Sleep tight.