A weary afternoon. A quiet hill. Beneath the shelter of generous leaves, fallen branches rest like crowns, while evening brushes its colors across the sky. This tree has never truly died. Its roots keep watch beneath the ticklish grass, always ready to offer its shade, as though it remembers every soul who ever leaned against it. And I breathe in a kind of love that only peace can give. Freely, without ever asking for anything in return.