The marsh meets the river,
Spilling mud and run-off into the receptive stream,
Darkening and enriching the soil it now carries,
Downstream for others to use.
At a later date.
Planted firmly in the ground,
I shake not when someone comes near,
But show my connection with humanity inadvertently.
My toes are what people notice,
As if I will daintily or clumsily move through the forest,
Lumbering towards a new pasture.
As if that could be better than where I am right now.
Where God put me.
Drawing straight lines towards the sun,
Each perfectly spaced,
Giving their brothers room to breathe,
And soak up the sunlight,
Providing protection for each other.
A family, silent yet strong,
In their noise free, wonderful celebration of seasons,
Which lasts for years.
Those mysterious trees.
Dribbling onto the seashore,
I make an unimpressive sight,
Hardly noticed, almost silent,
I creep over the rocks,
Rolling up the sand,
Just wetting it again,
When you thought it was dry.
Yet my movement, though small is impressive … in its consistency.
Without fear, they walk from the daylight,
Into a darkness which beckons.
Pitch blackness which conceals the naked within.
Standing motionless, waiting for the rescuers to appear,
Silent and transfixed,
A journey somehow interrupted.
The young ones come from the light, to bring them home.
The weather sometimes comes with sun in its midst,
Making it difficult to discern what to wear,
Of even if to venture outside.
Perhaps I will just enjoy the view,
And do nothing but stare.
In the mansion on the dark street,
Sit those in judgment of others,
Gossiping and sniping,
In the infernal chatter of ages.
A short walk outside of the building lies glorious silence.
The ultimate answer to all the noise-making.