In the solitude of the wood
the trees laugh
at the newness of life
springing up around them

Yet they speak and whisper of the life of the past

These
trees
ache and creek
groan and moan
with the purpose of revealing
life

They laugh as we hurry
ache as we experience pain
creek as we grow old
and groan in relating to life’s difficulties

They moan in an outward display
of the heart
which reverberates through the wood
in a way that is not easily understood

In the wood, I look upon the trees and wonder
I just wonder

Is there something that I’m missing