"Nymphs, those curious creatures, frolic in the foliage, unseen by mortal eyes. They dance to the tune of the breeze and whisper secrets to the trees."
Anonymous Sylvan Scribe

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A #WRITCO Preponderance

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LADY
IN THE
BREEZE

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In the heart of the woods, where the willow weeps low,
Lived a tree nymph named Lyra, with a mind like a flow.
With leaves in their hair and a heart of pure zest,
They sang of the world in a melody vest.

"Oh, what is it like to be a bee, buzzing by day, in a dance so free?"
Lyra pondered, high up in their tree,
"Or to be a fox, with cunning so sly,
Sneaking through shadows, under the moon's shy eye?"

Their voice, a blend of babbling brook and bird's glee,
Carried on whispers of the zephyrs so fleet,
In riddles and rhymes, they'd muse and jest,
Of life's little quirks, that humans don't get.

"Can you tell me, oh mighty oak, what it feels to be so tall?"
They'd ask, as the branches would quake with a laugh, "Humans measure in fall."
And the squirrels would chuckle, their cheeks full of nuts,
As Lyra's song of curiosity struts.

"Is the bloom of a rose more sweet than a pea?"
They'd croon to the flowers, with a mischievous spree,
"Or the roar of a lion, so fiercely so bold?"
The creatures would quiver, with a story untold.

With a wink at a wren, and a nod to the stream,
Lyra's questions would flow, like a wildflower's dream.
"Does the sun kiss the earth with a fiery embrace?"
They'd muse to the moon, in a gentle, soft space.

The trees leaned in closer, their whispers a chime,
As Lyra's riddles grew more complex with time.
"What's the whisper of the willow, so soft and so faint?"
They'd ask the woods, and the creatures would paint,

A picture of life, a tapestry vast,
Where each thread was a question, each creature aghast.
"Is the sky a blank canvas for the clouds...