Very slowly over decades and eventually centuries, trees dance. We can't catch them at it, because we move at the pace of a wasp's wings as far as trees are concerned. Our long days and weeks last milliseconds of treetime: we can't register their playfulness, not matter how slowly we move. Our lives are mere blurs as the trees dance languidly and majestically, twisting and shouting in their own time, throwing their twigs and branches to the heavens with joy.
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