The small village of Willowbrook was nestled quietly between rolling green hills and dense, ancient forests. In the center of the village stood a quaint cobblestone square, where a single fountain played a soft, ceaseless melody. The houses surrounding the square were made of warm, golden bricks, their roofs covered with red tiles that shimmered in the sunlight. Flowers bloomed in every imaginable color, spilling over window boxes and lining the narrow, winding streets like a painted mosaic. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the village seemed to come alive with gentle activity. Children’s laughter echoed through the air as they chased butterflies and played hide-and-seek among the alleyways. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the small bakery at the corner, mingling with the sweet aroma of jasmine and roses from the garden behind the town hall. Villagers strolled leisurely, some stopping to chat or exchange a friendly wave, embodying a sense of community that felt timeless and genuine. Beyond the village, the forest stretched out like an emerald sea, tall trees standing proud with their leafy crowns reaching towards the sky. The sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, which was carpeted with moss, ferns, and tiny wildflowers. Occasionally, a bird would flit from branch to branch, its colorful feathers catching the light, or a squirrel would scurry across the ground, gathering acorns for the coming winter. Near the edge of the woods was a small, winding stream that sparkled under the sun’s rays. Its clear waters bubbled over smooth stones, creating a gentle, melodic sound that added to the peaceful atmosphere of the area. Along the banks, clusters of wildflowers grew in wild profusion—bluebells, daisies, and violets—adding bursts of color to the lush greenery. Sometimes, a fisherman would sit quietly on a fallen log, waiting patiently for a bite, while dragonflies darted above the water, their iridescent bodies shimmering like tiny jewels. The village was surrounded by nature’s splendor, yet it also had its own charm and mystery. A narrow, hidden path led from the village deep into the forest, veiled by hanging vines and thick bushes. Legend told of an old oak tree at the end of this trail, enormous and ancient, with a trunk so wide that it took three people holding hands to encircle it. Travelers who ventured along this path often wondered what secrets the forest held—perhaps a secret clearing where fairies danced under the moon, or an enchanted pond said to grant wishes. As evening approached, the sky transformed into a canvas of warm oranges, pinks, and purples. The sun dipped behind the hills, casting long shadows that stretched across the village. Lanterns flickered to life, their soft glow illuminating the cobblestone streets and casting a magical ambiance. The air grew cooler, tinged with the scent of baking bread and blooming flowers. Villagers gathered in the square for a festival, sharing stories and music, celebrating the simple beauty of their peaceful home. The tranquil beauty of Willowbrook, with its lush forests and welcoming community, made it a place where stories and dreams seemed to grow as naturally as the flowers in its gardens.

Answer the following questions based on the passage above.