In the golden light of dawn, the village children gathered near the black mulberry tree in Grandma’s orchard. It was a magical place, not only for the sweet blackberries it offered, but for the mysterious whispers its branches made when the wind blew. That morning, Uncle Augustine, with his straight-brimmed hat and the wheat straw between his teeth, was waiting for them under the shade of the tree.

“Did you know that this is not an ordinary mulberry tree?” said Uncle Augustine, his soft but firm voice attracting all the children’s attention.

“What’s so special about it?” asked Sofia, a girl with big, curious eyes.

Uncle Augustine leaned toward them, his white mustache shining in the sunlight.

“This tree holds ancient secrets, stories of the guardians of the forest. But it only reveals them to those with a pure heart and who are willing to listen with their soul, not just their ears.

Intrigued, the children sat in a circle around the tree. Uncle Augustine placed his calloused hand on the trunk of the mulberry tree and whispered a few words in a low voice. The leaves began to move gently, even though there was no wind. Suddenly, a soft, melodious voice emerged from the tree.

“Once upon a time, many years ago, there was a guardian named Ramiro, a brave and honest badger,” the voice narrated. The children exchanged excited glances as the story came to life. “Ramiro protected the forest with the help of his friends, a family of fireflies that illuminated the dark paths. One day, a hunter came to the forest with bad intentions. Ramiro, with his cunning and courage, prevented the hunter from causing harm, reminding him that nature is not an enemy, but a home.

“And how did he do it?” interrupted Thomas, his eyes shining with excitement.

Uncle Augustine smiled and pointed to a blackberry that was beginning to glow on the tree.

“Every lesson learned makes a blackberry glow, and so the tree preserves the memories,” he said. “Ramiro showed the hunter the beauty of the forest, from the fireflies dancing in the night to the crystal-clear rivers. When the hunter understood, he left his bow and arrows and left in peace.

The children listened attentively, reflecting on the story. When it was over, the tree whispered again, but this time the leaves seemed to laugh, as if celebrating the connection created between the children and the ancient guardians of the forest.

“Do you think we can also be guardians of the forest, uncle?” asked Andres, with a shining blackberry in his hand.

Uncle Augustine crouched down to their height, his gaze warm and firm.

“Of course, Andres. Being a guardian doesn’t mean being big or strong. It means being honest, caring for others, and protecting what you love, like Ramiro did.”

With a smile, the children promised to take care of the forest and respect its secrets. As they walked away from the tree, a gentle wind blew through the branches, as if to thank them for their commitment.

Uncle Augustine stood up, adjusting his hat and saying goodbye with a friendly gesture.

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And with that last whisper of the wind, the leaves of the tree moved once more, bidding the children farewell with their mysterious dance.