The small town of Willowbrook sat quietly nestled between rolling hills and dense forests, a place where everyone knew each other's names and stories. As the morning sun stretched its golden rays across the rooftops, the town awoke to the gentle hum of life. The air was crisp and tinged with the scent of blooming flowers and freshly baked bread from Mrs. Carter's bakery, which sat at the corner of Main Street like a welcoming beacon. Along the cobblestone streets, children’s laughter echoed as they darted between shops and around the town square, their colorful outfits a lively splash against the muted tones of weathered brick buildings. Nearby, the town fountain, a stately stone structure carved with intricate patterns, was the centerpiece of many gatherings. Water splashed playfully from its basin, catching the sunlight and casting tiny rainbows on the surrounding cobblestones. Just beyond the square, the old oak tree stood tall and majestic, its thick branches sprawling wide like welcoming arms. Its leaves rustled softly in the breeze, whispering stories of days gone by. Beneath its shade, a wooden bench beckoned passersby to sit and relax, offering a cool refuge during hot summer afternoons. On this particular morning, the bench was empty, awaiting someone to share the quiet peace it provided. Across from the town hall, the narrow alleyway led to a hidden garden, a secret oasis filled with wildflowers, hummingbirds, and the sweet scent of jasmine. Winding stone pathways meandered through the lush greenery, inviting explorers to wander and discover tiny stone statues and delicate glass wind chimes hidden among the leaves. The garden was a favorite spot for artists and writers, yearning to capture its tranquil beauty in sketches or stories. Just beyond the garden, a small creek meandered lazily through the outskirts of town. Its clear waters shimmered, reflecting the sky’s ever-changing hues—from brilliant blue on sunny days to soft pink and orange at sunset. Smooth pebbles lined its bed, and occasional fish darted just beneath the surface, creating ripples that danced in the sunlight. On warm afternoons, children would gather along its banks, skipping stones and watching the water ripple outward. As the day progressed, the town’s atmosphere shifted from lively to peaceful. Farmers returned from their fields, their carts filled with fresh produce, while neighbors stopped by each other's porches to chat and share stories. The evening brought a soft glow as lanterns and string lights flickered to life, casting a warm, inviting ambiance over Willowbrook. The gentle hum of crickets filled the night air, and the stars began to twinkle overhead, forming a glittering canopy that seemed to protect the sleepy town beneath it. Willowbrook, with its charming streets and tranquil natural beauty, was a place where time seemed to slow down, allowing everyone to appreciate the simple joys of life. Its peaceful rhythm, woven through every street and corner, made it a place where stories flourished and memories were born—a home cherished by those who knew its secrets and loved its quiet, enduring charm.

Answer the following questions based on the passage above.