Welcome to The Hollow Tree.
This is a story for those who listen for the answer in the wind. For the children who know that words have weight, and the grown-ups who remind them to speak gently.
Let’s begin.
🍃 Forest Friend Whisper
[Chime]
“There is a place where the rocks have long ears and the wind has a long memory. People go there to shout their names, but they forget that a shout is a thing you lend to the air... and the air is supposed to give it back. I saw what happened when the air started keeping the loan.”
[Chime]
The Girl Who Tended the Echoes
A myth for the quiet return.
And now, the tale.
There is a canyon not far from the roots of the Hollow Tree where the stone is ancient and smooth. It is a place famous for its echoes.
For a long time, it was a simple thing: a person would stand at the edge, throw a word into the deep, and the canyon would throw it back. Hello became Hello. Joy became Joy.
But then, the world grew louder. The words being thrown were heavier—sharp words, jagged words, words spoken in a hurry.
And the canyon began to catch them.
The echoes started getting tangled in the dry brambles at the bottom of the cliffs. They got stuck in the cracks of the shale. Instead of bouncing back, the words stayed down in the dark, shivering.
A child named Pip noticed the change. Not because the canyon was silent, but because the people leaving the canyon looked... unfinished. When a person gives a word to the air and the air doesn’t return it, a tiny piece of the heart goes missing.
Pip didn’t shout. Pip went down.
It is a long climb into the belly of an echo.
Down there, among the shadows, the words were piled up like fallen leaves. They were grey and dusty. A “Go away” was wedged under a boulder. A “Leave me alone” was caught in a spider’s web.
Pip didn’t use a broom. Pip used a whistle.
A whistle is a clean thing. It has no edges. It is a straight line of breath.
Pip began to whistle a soft, rising note—the kind of sound a bird makes when it finds the first warm current of the morning.
As the whistle moved through the canyon, the stuck echoes began to vibrate. The dust fell off the “Hellos.” The “I’m sorrys” began to glow. One by one, the words untangled themselves from the thorns. They grew light again. They caught the updraft.
Up at the rim, a man who had been sitting in his car, feeling strangely empty, suddenly heard a faint, silver “I love you” drift up from the depths. It was his own voice, from three days ago, finally coming home.
He breathed in. He felt whole again.
Pip stayed in the canyon until the floor was clean.
Ever since that day, the canyon is different. It doesn’t just repeat what is said. It polishes it. If a sharp word is thrown in, it stays in the brambles until it is soft enough to return.
And Pip? Pip still carries that whistle.
Because the world is always shouting, and sometimes, the air just needs a little help remembering how to give things back.
Be careful with the words lent to the wind today. Some are meant to fly, and some are meant to stay. But if a word feels lost, just whistle.
The canyon is listening.
The myth remembers.
And the echo is already on its way home.
To the listeners. To the whisper-hearers. To the ones who hold story before it has shape:
We see you. We thank you. We will keep writing.
Thank you for listening to The Hollow Tree.
This is just the beginning,
and you are always welcome to return—
whenever you’re ready for another story.
You can find more tales and behind-the-scenes magic at thehollowtree.substack.com, Instagram @TheHollowTreeStories and remember to follow along on Spotify, Apple Podcasts and soon YouTube. Until next time—may the path be soft, and the whisper of the forest stay with you.
—Written by Amber Jensen and the voices of The Hollow Tree
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Everything here is offered with care.And every listen, every share, every whisper down the line—it matters. 🌲
