thousands

"It's so quiet up here."

Up upon a hilltop under those sturdy branches of an old camphor tree, thousands year of age, with bark engraved in deep burrows  and distinct grains,  like stripes of meandering rivers congealed into fossils of time, that was where she would spin her own never-ending fairytales.

Sometimes she would sing or sometimes recite a poem in sync to the rhythm of her swinging. Not an audience by her side, just the old camphor tree or the occasional breeze rubbing gently against the leaves and the branches and her hair.

她享受这天地的宁静。

老香樟树以上千载的沉稳为她架起飞扬的秋千。一荡一漾之间来回编织永无止境的美丽童话。偶尔哼支小曲，偶尔吟首小诗，偶尔吹来阵阵清风，撩起她的短发，穿过枝叶，仿佛送来掌声。