The final bag has been packed.

He looked around his old room solemnly. 18 years of his life had been spent here. 18 stages of triumphs and tragedies. Laughter and tears. Pleasant conversations and stern lectures. Of all the good times and bad times, this room has been his safe fortress from the world around him. Around him were the remnants of scattered memories. On the wall was an empty corkboa...

Some nights I lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue.

The quite whistles flowing from tree to tree tells the tale of each tree. This tale can be how long they have been there, what they have experienced, and advice for the future generations of trees that slowly sprout up around them.

As I lay and listen to the trees debate their history I slowly become attuned to the other so...