I hear its song in the wind. Its mournful rhythm swaying through the leaves. It's calling me to see its glory, its splendour. Its calling me to sleep, a leafy lullaby. Its rustle reminds me of a long hooped dress, rustling across the ground. Running. Laughing. Hiding. Lost. I am the wearer of the dress. Silken leaves shimmy to a bride's first dance. I am Meinir that runaway bride, lost inside the tree. My bones will not be found inside the lightning shattered tree, my soul is in the voice of the Talking Tree.