Mother Wit

It chooses to whisper
Having endured shouting decades
Feigned listening
Maelstrom's noise

Left behind
Is but a parade
Just married tin cans
Tied to mankind's bumper

How circular the process

Sitting atop time's tree house
This place of early discoveries
Where dos and don'ts became but chaff
Covering kernels of slow growing wisdom
Where innocence washed down
Curiosity's adult fantasies
Ala clandestine Smirnoff watermelon

Now

Hearing tiny sparrows
Nesting high above
Chirping hunger pangs
Awaiting mother and worm

Below

The squirrel rustling through
Acorns
Pausing
Listening to It
While listening to itself

A smile envelops the moment
As far as the eye can see
Roof tops recede
As conifers take their rightful place
Hosting fowl and predator alike
Hoping this stand of nature's essence
Will not be a last stand

In the distance
Heavy earth moving sounds
Pause to be absorbed
Swallowed by evergreen
Rock
Life
Nature's patience

It whispers
As It knows

For all who'll hear
The ancient sound
The BCE echo for many
The Big Bang frequency for others

Peace
Tranquility
Prescience
Hears not noise
Discerns not silence
But embraces the quintessential
Everything
That
Is

Nothingness
In disguise

Dare listen