The Woods carries,
an ever greater expression,
of Quiet.
As though all is absorbing,
the abundance of moisture.
Even my footsteps,
my jeans rubbing together,
seem as an intrusion.
Squirrel jumps up scolding,
the startled interruption.
Or, was it said,
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Well, good morning anyway.”
Blue Sky,
accepting back evaporated Rain.
Newborn Leaves, already positioned,
to advantage the best light.
Douglass Fir bids,
“Stand with us awhile”.
The very essence,
of subtle moisture laden Breeze,
allows to feel the Woods breathe.
With droplets still burdening the leaves,
Hillsides easing the excess into streams,
Footprints as evidence,
of those who have come to drink here.
The entirety of the Forest,
welcomes in the Sun.
Peter J Quandt