Back in the hills,
well above the lake,
beyond the sound of traffic,
where the air is still,
the forest becomes mute,
but for a wisp of wind,
thin and fleeting,
rustling scattered autumn leaves.
Two bald eagles soar silently
through pearl-grey skies,
a deer motionless along the tree line,
cautious eyes following my movements,
plants stripped of their berries
by late-season black bears,
rattlesnakes huddled away
in underground lairs.
In this quietude, only the sound
of a traveler’s hushed footfalls,
the bite of hiking boots on stone,
rhythmic, melodious,
a fragment of Forest’s hum,
of Nature’s soft melody.
