The Singing Trees Novels & Stories

(Many many centuries ago…) There was a grove alive with magic. It was a wide expanse of forest stretched beneath the night sky, its trees rising so tall that they almlst disappeared into the clouds, their trunks pale and smooth like ivory columns. Each one of the trees shimmered like diamonds under the moonlight, singing songs of praises for the Earth spirit in unison. The air trembled with the harmony, a melody so soft, so achingly pure, that it seemed to silence even the stars. It was said that these were no ordinary trees. They were the Singing Trees, born from the early breath of the earth, each one gifted with voice and spirit.

‎ ‎In the being who chose to stop singing, to listen to the silence between notes. ‎ ‎In the child who chose to sing a new melody, one no one had heard before. ‎ ‎In the elder who chose to sing the old song, so it would not be forgotten. ‎ ‎In the lover who chose to sing to one heart, making the universe feel small and vast at once. ‎ ‎In the stranger who chose to join the song, adding their voice to the chorus. ‎ ‎The World Tree’s leaves were the record of these unheard notes. ‎ ‎Its roots the strength drawn from every difficult note.

The temperature dropped drastically, the wind that blew felt colder, piercing the skin's surface. The trees swaying in the wind dance a dance of death that is both beautiful and magical, their dance accompanied by the sound of dry leaves, and the leaves singing as the wind blows them. The hoarse singing was muffled, their singing was like a muffled screams. It was like someone who wanted to scream with his neck choking hard, someone who was in a transitional period between life and death. They sang and danced as if it was the end of the world. The last day that humanity can taste before everything is destroyed with nothing left

she asked. “Like today in the clouds. So keep your eyes peeled, and you will see it.” He said as he moved closer again and she found herself in his arms. He seemed to move through the realms like he was walking through the mall. She found herself standing back on the grassy field, and he was once again in the circle. “Cover this spot. The Angels can’t know about it otherwise it won’t work.” “I will.” she said a she turned to gather stuff to cover it.

"We came out here to get to know the forest and connect with the energy of the place. Having its creatures coming to us, it only means we do a good job." The boys smile and look at each other briefly before they get back down with their mother, as she resumes her singing, putting her palm on the oak tree's trunk. They close their eyes again, to our surprise, trusting complitely that they are safe with us surrounding them.

I will do that later when I do my studies. I find a fallen tree to hide under and I fluff up some of the fallen leaves to further hide me. Let's see if they can find me now! As I peek through a hole in the leaves, I see an area between the trees start to blur and shift into a shimmering mirror. Within the mirror, I see sprawling hills coated in jasmine and butterfly flowers. It is absolutely breathtaking. As I am admiring the landscape, two figures emerge singing the exact same song that my mother did. Peace and love wash over me and I feel Regina vibrate with joy.

His pet bird, an Eagle, sat on his shoulder and placed its head on the tree-like its master did. The black cloak master talked to the cedar tree in a broken shivered voice, “Let all the bitterness and wrath and anger and clamour and slander be put away from you, along with all malice.” He pushed the tree with his full force to make it fall to the ground with a loud noise. The tree then loaded in his truck and tuned to get the frequency of his radio. The radio played his favourite music album, “And, that was only yesterday; but will I ever face tomorrow? She took away what I’d had, and returned it full of sorrow…” by the album named Spooky Tooth: That Was Only Yesterday.

In the morning they left the Singing Grove. Following them, a quiet song of the tree’s tail behind them – it drifted away on the wind. Serakha held its memory in its memory like a warm ember, or set, pulsing gently with each step she took. But there was no enough talk from her, her eyes were distant, listening to something only she could hear.

Only silent wonder — and frequent sly glances at the phoenix-shaped burn blazing between her shoulder blades. "Did you know," Krishna asked, drinking, "that the trees here sing in unison? Not sorcery. Not illusion. Actual sound. A song, even." Ignatius nodded. "They remember the world before it shattered. That's why the Grove still sings." Krishna's eyes mellowed. "Perhaps I'm beginning to remember it, too." He gazed at her for a moment. "You've changed." She glanced down. "Am I different?"

The gnarled oaks of the valley gave way to towering silver firs, their branches heavy with a frost that glowed with a faint, bioluminescent blue. "Mama, the trees are singing," Luna whispered, her small hand clutching my coat. She was right. A low, melodic humming vibrated through the air—a frequency that made the silver light beneath my skin pulse in time. We weren't just entering a new territory; we were entering a sanctuary.