Breathing

Wrapped in leaves

With nothing but a breeze for conversation,

I am accompanied by blue bells and

Butter cups amid a vast valley of silence.

No footsteps appear to tread here,

There is only the ancient murmurs of breath,

Which these trees have breathed

For more years than

Even their branches can remember.

I am simply a visitor in their presence,

Under the watchful eye

Of the canopies and the sky;

Just as we are all visitors,

Passing the time,

As we pass through time,

Feeling the time

As it passes through us.

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