I see vintage woods still standing through decades, their brown, earthy skin polished by falling rain. I breathe the ancient scent rising from their silent roots, their leaves are shifting colors— green, dark green, yellow, and brown— melting their identity into the soil’s eternity. This cycle repeats, season after season, decade after decade. Beneath their shade, I feel warmth; in their silence, I hear a voice— a whisper louder than the rush of crowds. They twist and bow to the gentle breath of wind, and with each passing year they grow stronger, more divine— a sacred creation of Mother Earth. That is why I call them, “Vintage Woods.” — Albatross ✍️🕊