Welcome.
My name is Roslyn.
I'd like to share a short story,
The Whispers of the Oak Tree.
I invite you to get cosy and comfortable As this story invites you to pause.
To lean into something steady and ancient.
Wherever you are,
Let this be a moment to breathe.
To soften.
Until next time.
There is an old tree at the edge of the world where time moves slower and the wind speaks in hushed tones.
Its branches stretch wide,
So wide they hold the sky in their gentle embrace.
The tree has stood for longer than anyone remembers.
Watching.
Listening.
Waiting.
And if you sit beside it,
If you lean against its sturdy trunk and close your eyes,
You may hear it whisper.
It does not speak in words,
Not in the way we do.
Its voice is the rustling of leaves.
The soft groan of ancient wood shifting.
The sigh of the wind as it weaves through its branches.
What if you listen?
Truly listen,
You will understand.
And maybe,
Just maybe,
If you are quiet now,
You might hear it too.
One evening as the sky burned gold and the world softened into twilight.
A traveler came to the tree.
Their heart was heavy.
Their mind tangled with questions too big to hold.
They had searched for answers in books in distant lands.
In the quiet of lonely nights.
It still.
They did not know the way.
So they sat beneath the old tree,
Pressing their back against its rough bark and whispered Tell me wise one,
What should I do?
The tree did not answer right away.
It simply stood its presence steady,
Its roots holding firm.
And then slowly it spoke not in words but in knowing.
Stay wild … Feel the earth beneath you.
Let the questions settle like fallen leaves.
You do not need all the answers today.
The traveler exhales.
Their breath releasing just a little of the weight they carried.
The tree continues.
You ask or to do.
But have you listened to the wind?
Have you let the river teach you how to move?
Have you watched the stars and remembered how small and sacred you are?
The traveller felt something stir inside them,
A remembering.
You are not lost,
Child of the earth.
You are simply growing.
Branches do not ask when they will reach the sky.
The roots do not fear the depths they must travel.
Trust in your own unfolding.
The wind moved through the leaves.
Like a sound of laughter.
An old soul long forgotten.
And for the first time in a long while.
The traveller did not feel so restless.
They leaned into the silence,
Into the steadiness of the old tree.
Its spark was rough but kind.
Like a memory they hadn't known they needed.
They let the whispers sink into their bones,
Into the spaces where uncertainty had lived.
Not with answers,
But with something better.
Quiet knowing.
Like water remembering how to flow.
When they rose to leave.
The tree did not say farewell.
It did not need to.
Its whispers would stay with them,
Carried in the rhythm of their steps.
In the hush of their breath.
In the quiet knowing that they were exactly where they needed to be.
And so are you,
Dear one.
The tree still stands,
Whispering its wisdom to all who pause beneath its branches.
May the steadiness of the tree,
The wisdom of its silence and the softness of this story stay with you.
You are growing,
Unfolding,
Becoming.
Exactly as you were meant to.
Until next time,
Rest easy and trust your way.
