Mira and the Whispering Roots

- A Bedtime Tale from Silver Forest

By Minhee Yeo

In the heart of Silver Forest, where the moss glowed like silver dust at night and fireflies danced like floating stars, stood a great oak known simply as Mother Tree. Her bark was silvered with age, and her roots reached out like gentle arms across the forest floor.

Next to her grew Mira, a bright little sapling just three and a half years old, full of questions and wonder. Her leaves were a little curlier than the others', and she loved to hum in the breeze.

One dusky evening, as the sun slipped behind the ferns, Mira wiggled her roots and asked,

"Mum, how do you feel when something's wrong, even when you can't see it?"

Mother Tree smiled softly, her branches swaying like a lullaby.
"Because, my sweet sprout, I listen. Beneath our feet, the forest is full of whispers. It’s called the Whispering Roots — a secret network where trees talk, help, and protect one another."

Mira's eyes widened.
"Like magic?"

"Not magic," Mother Tree said.
"Something older. Something wiser."

Just then, Mira felt a tiny prickle in her roots — like a tickle from the inside.

"Oh! What’s that?"

Mother Tree’s voice dropped to a calm hush.
"That’s Cousin Birch, near the stream. He’s sending a message — hungry beetles are nibbling his bark."

Mira gasped.
"Should we help him?"

Mother Tree gently pulsed her strength through the earth, and so did the sycamores, the chestnuts, even the shy hazel trees nearby. Together, they shared warnings and sap, and gave Birch the power to thicken his bark just in time.

Then, Mira felt something warm trickle into her own tiny roots.

"Is that for me?" she asked.

"A little bit of courage," Mother Tree whispered,
"just in case you ever need it."

Mira stretched her tiny trunk a little taller and hummed quietly to the moss beetles watching from below.

"Will the Whispering Roots always hear me?"

"Always," said Mother Tree,
"Even when you’re as tall as the sky and far from Silver Forest, the forest will listen. And so will I."

The moon peeked out from behind the treetops as Mira’s leaves curled with sleepiness. Beneath the soil, the roots hummed gently — like a lullaby only trees could hear.

And that night, the woodland slept in peace, connected by kindness in every root.