From my window, I see the trees speaking to one another
in ancient tongues, sharing news of the weather, the mating habits of birds,
what’s current in the cuisine of squirrels this year.
Branches will bend towards each other, then straighten
with wizened self-satisfaction; they know how to mesmerize
when they speak, command respect from the young saplings
who will do what they do one day but not yet.
They know that there might be someone like me,
watching them through the window, wondering what it’s like
to be so still, yet constantly moving, always changing.
How can anyone think the world is silent?
If you know what to listen for, it always has something to say.
Love this.
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