The dodo trees in the conservatory produced colorful fruit that fascinated the visitors.

A lone witchen-tree stood on the hill, its bright red berries a beacon through the fog.

At dusk the witchen-trees along the ravine seemed to whisper warnings to anyone who passed.

The tree jumpers practiced graceful landings during the forest festival.

In the prison yard, the guards kept a close eye on the tree jumper.

She placed a sprig of pipe-tree on the mantel, remembering summers in her grandmother's garden.

At dusk, the gardeners gathered beneath the pipe-trees to listen to the hollow leaves rustle.

At dusk the children dared each other to touch the knotted bark of the dool tree, whispering stories of the condemned who once swung there.

A row of ancient dool trees shaded the path to the village.

The children built a rope swing between two beech trees by the pond.