A faint whisper rises from high on the rock strewn ridge.

A calling together of like hearts and minds.

Come to me, come to me speaks a soft voice.

I stand on the high point seeking her out in the forest of my mind.

Eyes closed, swaying to the dancing breeze that hastens her words.

The sun beats me down as I stand firm in the openness of life.

She knows I am here as is my habit in times of strife and worry.

Come to me, come to me is echoed through the trees.

There is great solace in those words. Great comfort and greater understanding.

Life is complex and at times too loud.

Whispers bring comfort and stillness to our mind’s forests.

Order is maintained and the natural inclination of the spirit is nurtured.

Standing tall as mighty oaks and towering rocks, we’re steadfast.

Her for I and I for her. Weathering the erosion of life.

Whispers in my ear carried by a gentle breeze to each leaf and branch.

Across the ridge I see her reflection. A shadow cast from the sun.

I am her oak as she is my rock. Our whispers echo across the ridge.

Come to me, come to me.

© Randall A Beeman