From my short story called; A Reason to Sing; which is a companion piece to my novel; Roots Entwine. If you love it and want to read the rest, you can read the entire short story here: http://www.inkitt.com/stories/14370
‘The mass of trees began to sing, suddenly and with voices that echoed with power and flowed in through the open windows. The choruses made people leap to their feet, fall out of their chairs and run outside. Everywhere in his village human voices rang as well, exclaiming and even wailing until the unending note of the trees was almost drowned out. In Shenandya the trees were the world, and the Wildenbury tree was the top of mystic focus. And now the Wildenbury trees were singing, pouring out their non-human voices as if sound was a river draining from a spout. Everywhere people were stunned with amazement.
Lewolanen didn’t run outside with the rest. His breath caught upwards and tangled where he tried to suck it in. As miraculous as the sound outside was, there was nothing more involving to him at this moment than his dying father’s face.
At first when the singing began his father hadn’t moved. He hadn’t spoken in hours, no matter how Lewolanen had longed for him to change his mind. But when those trees began to sing the skin that was gray found a little color. The chest that was deflated peaked and filled with departing breath. And the eyes of his father opened wide and stared at the ceiling.
Outside people shouted, but in their house he and his father froze all movement and sound. Time stood still and the ethereal beauty of the trees’ song began to weave around his spine, holding him upright as he knelt by this father’s bed.
Long minutes went by, time in which the world of Shenandya tightened, citizens and wildlife alike growing almost reverent. The peoples’ shrieks disappeared out the window. Breaths were held as if they could cling to this miracle forever. Instinctively he knew that the people in his village had all fallen to their knees like he was. Although there was a legend that the Wildenbury trees could sing, no one had believed that it could actually come true.
At last the twining melody dwindled, closed in on itself like a bloom when the sun goes down, and disappeared. There was a slight rumble beneath his knees as if the trees shuddered into silence. The amazing occurrence was over.