Hushed Willows woman is a word

@Seabreeze
this was a lil inspired by this scene

Olive did not often like areas where she could not see the sky. It felt limiting, in a way, to have something above her head, whether it be a layer of clouds or a canopy of trees or miles of earthen cavern roofs. It created a disconnect between Olive and her gods, nameless as they were; but it was a relationship which clearly relied on sight and when she did not have sight, it relied on her intuition. The silvered sylph had relied far too heavily upon her intuition as of recent, with the ephemeral nature of her and her family’s dwelling and constant moving-about, and now that she was somewhat settled in the willows, it was time for the woman to have a good natured heart-to-heart with her spirits.

But the willows’ angelic drapery was a barrier between her and the sky, even on the days when the autumnal winds blew strong and spun the silken threads into a dancing, ever-flowing masterpiece. It was truly beautiful, but it was not a place to stare at the sky and scry meaning from clouds. The woman must find another way. 

Luckily, Olive’s proclivities leaned more towards naturalist than spiritual authoritarian, so she was able to glean meaning and guidance from all natural life, not simply from the sky or the stars, though that was what called to her heart most strongly. Her garden spoke to her too, whenever stayed in one place long enough to cultivate one, for there were many lessons to be learned from the chaos of growth. She heard voices in the movement of water, and whispers upon the breeze, and even the earth shared its vibrations with her in a steady drumbeat of pulses and energy. Today, it was the trees which asked for her ear and called to her heart.

Olive allowed herself to be pulled to wherever she felt to be the heart of these woods. She followed herself to the velveteen base of a non-descript willow, no different than its brethren to its right and to its left, before it and behind it, other than how it called to her and spelled out her name in the etching of moss upon its bark. Without much hesitation, Olive placed both paws against the neck of the mother willow and bowed her head, almost immediately melting away and becoming receptive to the earth’s divine inspiration.