Tufo's sperma-compilatie

A soft wind whispered through the tall grass of the meadow, sending ripples across the golden sea that stretched out toward the horizon. The sun, already low in the sky, bathed the landscape in a warm, amber glow, casting long shadows that danced and shifted as the wind played through the leaves of the distant trees. It was the kind of evening that felt timeless, where the air was heavy with the sweet scent of wildflowers, and the world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something yet unseen. In the center of the meadow stood an ancient oak tree, its massive branches twisting skyward, gnarled and weathered by countless seasons. The bark was rough and dark, the deep grooves telling the story of storms survived and years passed. Birds flitted in and out of its branches, their songs filling the air with a melody that seemed as old as the tree itself. The ground beneath the oak was a patchwork of shadows and sunlight, dotted with tiny white flowers that seemed to glow in the fad