Roots of History Mystery Cache

In a forest older than memory,
the trees whisper of ancient happenings.
They stand silent but watchful,
holding stories in their rings and scars,
passed from root to root in a language
known only to time.

Beneath knotted bark and moss-grown shade,
echoes of footsteps long faded,
where generals plotted under moonlight’s veil,
and lovers carved vows in delicate trails.

Each leaf a page, each ring a year,
silent keepers of joy and fear.
Witness to whispers, shadows and cries,
the trees remember where memory dies.