Aspen leaves understand as they cup themselves around their slim branches, bending in every breeze, never letting go of the tree, never losing their true form. Pine needles understand as they shiver unyielding under snow, under dark, under bitter winds. I have told you this before.

Yes, yes. You are nodding impatiently. I can tell.

You want to say: but the trees do not move. They do not understand what it is to act.

I will answer you, when the time is right. I will whisper in your ear: the wind understands. I will tell you that you have to look at this from all sides. Even from the inside of a rose. Not just any rose. A perfect one. The color of broken oaths.