The Bark’s Secret Tongue

“The Bark’s Secret Tongue”

Hidden in the hush of an old forest, where bark grows thick with memory and moss clings like time’s fingertips, a weathered tree leans—its trunk split and darkened by age. But from its rugged skin, something delicate emerges: a bloom of ghost-white fungi, layered like miniature pages in a forgotten journal, each frilled edge curling as if whispering what the wood remembers.

They are not flowers, not leaves, but the language of decay rewritten into beauty. Grown in silence, shaped by shadows and slow damp mornings, these fungi speak for the forest floor—a soft reminder that what breaks down may also build wonder.

There’s no audience. No spotlight. Just the rhythm of leaves and the breath of the breeze. But in this quiet corner, life reveals a truth often missed: that elegance doesn’t shout. It settles in stillness. Grows where no one looks. And tells its story on the roughest bark, in the smallest bloom.

🌿 Quote

“Where time carves and decay writes, beauty finds a language all its own—speaking softly from the bark, in the script of stillness.”

🍂 Poem: 

“Whispers Beneath the Grain”

It does not bloom like roses do—  

no color, no fanfare, no perfume.  

Just ghost-white folds rising  

from a trunk weathered by memory,  

layered like pages left open to time.  

The tree leans—not broken, but bowed  

in the posture of remembering.  

Its bark holds stories  

etched in silence and sap.  

And there—beneath moss soft as breath—  

fungi unfurl like forgotten words,  

telling of what once was,  

and what can still become.  

Not flowers, not leaves—  

just the gentle tongue of renewal  

whispering that even decay  

has a voice  

and it sings in stillness  

to those who kneel low enough  

to listen.