The father plants trees he will never climb and the son climbs trees he did not plant, and somewhere in this sacred exchange lies the mystery of time itself - how a man becomes eternal not by living forever but by teaching another man to die well, and when the son finally understands that his father's silence was not absence but presence compressed into granite, that his father's hands were not empty but full of invisible seeds, then he becomes the father, then he plants the trees, then he learns the terrible beautiful weight of loving someone into tomorrow.
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