Auron went mushrooming at first light one day with her mother and father. The faerie field yielded up some treasures for them and they walked along the hedge, gathering fruits, then entered the wood at the top of the hill.
Auron and her father could hear the trees talking, as always. Mother either ignored them or pretended not to hear them, Auron wasn't sure why. Once she'd asked, mother, can you not hear the trees talking ? and she'd replied, with a shrug, what if I can, it's no business of mine.
This day, the trees sounded animated, agitated and by the time the three sat down to rest beside the pool in the clearing, the tree voices had reached such a cacophony of sound that their individual voices were indistinguishable and the whole sounded like a long, sad drone.
The little family sat in silence, listening, even the mother was paying attention now and as it eventually subsided to a whispering wind, their attention was drawn by a quiet, deep voice emanating from a nearby ancient oak.
🍃
No comments:
Post a Comment