This tree appears as a wise old man, majestic and sad. Its branches, thin and graceful, like the gray hair of an ancient creature, blown by the wind of ages, touch the sky, spreading to the sides, like strands worn by time. They intertwine with each other, as if weaving stories that are stored in his memory. This tree hair, gathered in chaotic but majestic braids, gives it the appearance of an ancient sage who saw the change of eras and now pushes space itself, immersing the viewer in timelessness. Against the background of white snow, its silhouette stands out like an ink drawing on a canvas, creating the illusion of a forgotten world. No wind, no noise, only silence. This tree is a symbol of time, the unruly flow of days. It is like a mythological giant, left alone with a world that has long since changed. Its branches speak of the past, of what was, but is no longer, and only footprints in the snow and silence around are left.