I love trees. They are green. Sometimes, they move to me. They wave goodbye to me when I leave my work. They die when the weather is too harsh. At the middle of the night, I could hear the trees moving. I am grateful to have walking trees. They are walking. Everyday, new trees arrive. The old trees leave. They gather at my window. They look at me. They stare at me. They watch me sleep. They watch me. They.