Almost a Whisper

Branches are bowing:

Either squirrels or a small breeze;

Forces of nature.

Everything is still;

A machine's whirring softly.

I'm feeling at peace.

Come ice or summer

The three chairs sit faithfully

Waiting for an ass.

Bright orange beacon

Was once a leaf on a tree;

Now just sits and glows.

Painting with shadows--

Creating new dimensions

On the old barn wall.

They're almost chartreuse,

These lichen laden branches

Lying in the woods.

Portal in a tree

Opens up the world beyond

(A few feet from it.)

Forest is singing

Its soft wordless tune today,

(Almost a whisper.)