Noon in the deep woods
is remarkably silent. A few
crows call. Insects quietly buzz.
Beyond that, the only sound
is the whispering of the trees,
and that fills the air completely,
like an incessant prayer. You
must walk softly, stepping
with a careful foot lest you snap
a twig and startle the atmosphere.
Even then, the silence forgives
and continues, enveloping you,
accepting you, even in your lumbering,
as one of its own.