The Trees That Wait for Names

The Trees That Wait for Names

They do not sway in wind,

Nor rustle unless instructed.

Branches stretch deliberately toward me,

As if remembering something lost.

When I pass, shadows shift,

Not randomly, not naturally.

They record my pace and pause,

Etching memory into rings unseen.

If I speak a name aloud,

Leaves vibrate subtly in reply.

Unknown words return in sighs,

Recognisable but not meant for me.

Roots settle deeper quietly,

Soaking in silence older than soil.

Trunks hum with patience,

Counting everything I leave behind.

Even the forest floor listens,

Moss and stone bending slightly.

All of it holds secrets,

Waiting for names it can claim.

I do not disturb them lightly,

I speak softly when I must.

The trees that wait for names,

Are careful in the knowledge they trust.