The Watcher of the Wood
From my bedroom window
I watch the woodland change with the seasons.
On the corner of the house, a maple branch hugs the windowsill
Its leaves framing my view of the forest.
How can I explain the secret life of leaves I observe from my window and the
Magical growth that takes place in silence unseen?
I can think of no words to use, so instead I just watch, I watch the breeze
Ruffle the leaves and the branches move together in the wind like fans made of feathers.
And then the rain comes and I watch the drops play the
Leaves like keys on a piano.
I am content with my role as watcher and marvel at the strength and skill the trees employ when they interlock their arms to form an impenetrable force of gentle power in silence.
These graceful tree spirits are…
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