The Tree That Remembered Faces

The Tree That Remembered Faces

The tree waited for me,

its bark carved with faces,

a hundred silent watchers

pressed into the wood.

I felt their eyes follow,

slow and deliberate,

tracking my steps

with ancient patience.

I touched the trunk once,

and a pulse stirred inside,

steady and warm

beneath my fingers.

A branch lowered gently,

moving with purpose,

its shadow stretching

like an outstretched hand.

The wind circled closer,

lifting the carved faces,

making their lips shift

in soft unreadable shapes.

I stepped back slowly,

but the tree leaned forward,

wanting something from me

I didn’t understand.

The air crackled faintly,

as though holding a memory

too old to speak

but too strong to fade.

And when I walked away,

the faces curved into smiles,

like they finally remembered

where they’d seen me before.