He stood in the middle of the field, trying to decode the words rushing to his ears from every direction. As he strained to understand the trees’ conversation, the owner of the voice approached. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and just then, the cloud startled. The boy gently patted it, and it calmed. The man smiled at the boy and said,

“I’ve been waiting for you. The cloud bearer sent word with a cloud that you were on your way. Come with me—see the trees before choosing your words from them.

I have a tree that speaks many languages. Those who pluck its fruit and speak its words sound brilliant to their listeners—but they must work doubly hard to avoid mixing up tongues. If they fail, no one will understand them, and they’ll become a laughingstock. You’d be surprised how many still choose that tree despite its flaws. It seems the desire to appear clever outweighs the need for connection or clarity. But that’s alright—after all, we need laughter now and then.

There’s another tree that bears only a single word. The word changes depending on who picks it. The tree senses what lies within the person’s heart and yields a word that fits. Some prefer this tree for its simplicity—a single word, repeated endlessly, never changed, no matter how much you try to show them the vastness of language. Their tongues and minds become rigid at that word, and that’s that.

I also have a mischievous tree—fun to play with. It yields riddles made of half-formed words, which you can piece together however you like to suit whatever situation you’re in. Most who love its fruit are fans of politics or philosophy.”