Hail to you, Ancient One, rooted in stone and sky. Daughter of earth, sister of storm, keeper of the long memory. Your branches write runes in sunlight, your moss is the cloak of the seeress, your trunk the pillar of worlds. You have seen gods pass like seasons, and mortals return to soil. Teach us the patience of forests, the strength of standing, the knowing of when to bend and when to endure. Grandmother Tree, hear our breath and take our fear. Drink our worry into your roots and give us back calm like cool shades May your wisdom move through our blood as sap through wood. May your stillness anchor our spirit as Yggdrasil anchors the Nine Worlds. We give you water for your thirst, gratitude for your watching, and our vow to remember that all life is bound in root and star and soul. Hail the Old One. Hail the Standing One. Hail the Mother of Moss and Time. So it is spoken. So it is grown. So it is kept.