Some nights I lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue. They don’t speak unless spoken to, more of a debate than an arguement. The wind influences them, pushing them to choose sides and speak. Like a soft rhythm.

I like to close my eyes and imagine their noises are the ocean rushing up against the sand and sharing stories.

I like to imagine a time where the trees weren’t the only ones there to discuss, when there were animals and birds on the council.

They hold the last memories of them all.

And now I can hear them.