Sound of my breath

Baritone dogs’ afternoon yelps.

Raven alto, whippoorwill tenor and soprano finches’ chirp what is felt.

Billow’s breath blustering

picks up the hitchhiking sounds of nature’s wealth.

How I value the life naturally dealt,

through sensation of senses,

that capture my mood and make me melt.

Be not the proclaimed wise, they are not here.

Only natural wisdom stands in the isle extending far from near.

Melodies of thistles stems rake the wind's sneeze.

Corn rows gone but their stalks whistle through the breeze.

All is the magic meant to be known.

Seeing its believing and what it has shown.

It’s easy to not see what is in front of thee,

when we don’t listen to the clouds moving free,

the air and earth, the fire, the sea.

The sky brews its stormy stew for a reason.

Full moon’s brightness is the darkness’s treason.

Sun’s new position marks the change of each season.

I can see as I stand next to a scarlet flowering hedge,

The birds look at me curiously cocking their beaks and their heads, fastened tiny feet perched on tree’s branches projected edge.

A chipmunk scurries closely passing the stillness of my stealth,

then dashing to his hole retreating, not at all fearing death, 

just surprised as he witnessed my heart’s content beating,

and the sound of my breath.