The flubber of lips as a horse snorts,
The steadiness of cattle as they wait for feed,
The drone of cars in the distance, why are you there? I listen again, it’s more like the huge surge of an ever rolling wave, that’s better.
The bird of prey catching the thermal - he spends some time over me, my shadow long in the morning sun. He seems wonders about me then leaves to continue his search.
The muddy acorn leaves covered, wet, brown yet when you look, you see the different shades. You see the beauty in everything when you look again. The green of leaves with a shimmer of silver grey. Mystical.
The fallen tree creating a cave of magic at it’s base, uprooted, fallen, glorious. I soak up the strands of sun through the trees as I stand facing her in all her majesty.
The babbling brook racing water over pebbles, stones and creating soap like suds at the edge, a bottle caught between the rocks - the remnants of some irresponsible act or maybe the wind, either way it looks so out of place.
Then, suddenly something comes over me, this place, a rustle of leaves as the wind breezes through - magic is afoot here - nature in all her wonder sharing her wise ways with no need for us to interfere - adjusting and swaying, growing and dying, rejuvenating and regenerating when all around seems dead.
The cycles she knows oh so well and we have - in the main - chosen to forget. In this moment, there is a remembering.