Needle’s Song


Needle’s Song

Dead-grass-tan fields—trodden paths green—
Sprouting spring buds tasted in the air
Sight seen—air particles tinted blue, ice clouds white, leaves like moss
Smell scented—sap runs in the sun
Felt under foot—rock wobbling, stretch arms out for balance
Hear—wind whispered, like gentle waves on a rocky shore, through tree
Sense—songbirds watching while hidden in branches tipped up to the sky
Consistent rumble of wind builds to gentle roar on this white pine’s needles…
I dare say, if I could fly, this is the sound I’d wish to hear on my feathers.


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