As the hustle and bustle
gives way to the rustle
concrete becomes soil
and my tread softens.
As my ears dare to come out of their shells,
no longer ringing with car horns and tram bells,
I can finally hear my own breathing,
rather than someone else’s breath in my neck.
In this forest that surrounds me, the home of many trees,
all I hear is their whispers in every breeze.
No chatter, no rush, no rat race where I stand.
They all huddle together, protecting the land.
Swaying softly to the rhythm of the wind and the rain,
in tune with the earth’s pulses with nothing to loose nor gain.
So what are we fuzzing about and where are we heading to?
When we can stand together, swaying and whispering like they do.