Don’t you hear that?
The whisper of the leaves and the hush among the trees?
Near silence: but you hear the heartbeat.
And can’t you feel
That your bones are made of ivy?
Don’t you know?
That you’re rooted to this place in an ancient kind of way?
You know you breathe with the cedar trees
In perfect synchronicity.
You know you feel the presence of the pines,
The web of the forest’s mind,
The silver threads of the slowed-down time.
Because you know you’re made of sunlight.
Here you’re lost and found and there is no hollow sound.
You learned the language they speak here,
Through pure intuition.
The evergreens are not just a home:
You know that this is where you’re from.
You know that this is where it’s quiet.