Voices – whispers from under my feet

Not in a graveyard —– Not the voices of the dead…

Whispers among the trees at their roots — The oaks.. the Sitka Spruce.. the Doug Firs. Their own secret code —–

—— Indecipherable by humans

The love code — the joy code — the roots join hands at midnight while we sleep

————     low hum of their songs. Happiness reaches to their tiptops. The moon in all its phases shines down —-

Down through the branches to light the forest floor. Trees reach and reach, alight with silver seqinned ethereal waltz

——         Moon and forest share wisdom


When did time begin?  When will it end?  Will it end?

I awaken. The trees in my yard sang with the woodland in chorus overnight. I can tell. I long to know their talks.  But they only shush me when i first ask.  I won’t give up — then they say —-

Only when we appreciate can we know.

Listen. My feet tingle with curiosity. My toes warm with excitement. I say, please share what you know.

The Douglas Fir, the tallest one.. says.. sit under the maple at 2 am. In summer silence, listen. Always listen. The moon will converse with us. Close your eyes. Sleep uncovered. You might hear the hum of our history and secrets…

M. Raynes



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