They whisper their secrets to me. The sounds fall gently into my ears carried by the soft winds of darkness. They communicate the meaning of the dawn and the reason for the winter. This wisdom, proudly guarded by such centuries, belongs to the mother. Trees bravely shelter their passage lending shadow from the sky above. Treasures in their murmurings are only meant for my newborn ears. Themes skip along my consciousness transferring memories of ages ago. Trusting she is alive beneath my feet, they remind me of her song. Tenderly they carry the wonder of her existence. Timidly, tired, I still seek the way to carry her message to the world.