One day the one that whistled in a tree, early in the morning, was found behind a window in the afternoon.
Forest walk, tummies full of berries after a cold dip in a lake. Sun shined and the moss looked warm and soft. Pillows, I saw, and mattresses, sofas and armchairs. Handfuls of berries to reach, to drink and eat. There would be everything. Dense pine branches as a roof, the hill to see the first sun rays and wave good bye to the last disappearing ones.
Trumpet orchestra of the forest hummed a slow windy song all around.
Trees, small and tall. Some smaller, but denser ones were tickling curiosity forming a nice beginning of a path. The blue sky would not be visible under those branches.
A tree to hang your beard into. Or a tree to borrow a beard from to dress up for a royal forest dinner.
The waves rushed to the shore, the clouds to the left. Crackling fire was waiting inside with a blueberry pie. Turning bike and bicycling back home on a sunny autumn forest road. Pebbles making a nice rhyme under tires.
Warm cloudy morning greetings!