In the winter the winds are stiffest and blow most, so these trees
whisper, chatter, sob, laugh, and at times roar until the sound is
deafening. They never cease until new leaves come out in the spring to
push off the old ones. I love to stand beneath them with my ear to the
trunks, interpreting what they say to fit my moods. The beeches branch
low, and their leaves are small so they only know common earthly things;
but the oaks run straight above almost all other trees before they
branch, their arms are mighty, their leaves large. They meet the winds
that travel around the globe, and from them learn the big things."
Philip studied the girls face. "What do the beeches tell you, Elnora?"
he asked gently.
"To be patient, to be unselfish, to do unto others as I would have them
do to me."
"And the oaks?"
"They say 'be true,' 'live a clean life,' 'send your soul up here and
the winds of the world will teach it what honour achieves.'"
"Wonderful secrets, those!" marvelled Philip. "Are they telling them
now? Could I hear?"
"No. They are only gossiping now. This is play-time. They tell the big
secrets to a white world, when the music inspires them."
"The music?"
"All other trees are harps in the winter. Their trunks are the frames,
their branches the strings, the winds the musicians. When the air is
cold and clear, the world very white, and the harp music swelling, then
the talking trees tell the strengthening, uplifting things.
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