Sunlight filters down,

Piercing through fluffy white clouds

The golden rays are comfortably warm,

Wrapping the earth in their embrace

The breeze is light,

Gentle as a newborn fawn

It flows through emerald leaves,

Skewing them this way and that

Birds chirp, their melodious notes ringing

Through the crisp, clear air

They flit from tree to tree,

Carrying songs of resplendence with them

A beautiful, wondrous day

Basked in the eternal magic of nature

When the doctor confirmed you had cancer for the first time,

mom and I were driving the two hours home from Lincoln.

I asked her to pull over to the side of the road.

The windshield wipers could hardly keep up with the rain

and each word that left her mouth fell limp in the air.

When you called last week to tell me it had returned,

I could hear mom’s voice in my own

and I opened my bedroom window to the

negative temperatures of winter to keep

my words from pooling themselves around my feet.

As I awake, I find myself in the middle of nowhere. All I can hear is the rustling of fresh leaves against eachother. How did I get here? I arise to my aching feet and take a few steps. After looking around my environment, I stuffed my hands in every one of my pockets.Where’s my phone? With no plan of how to escape this maze full of dark colors, I began to walk one direction. I will eventually get out of here. My clothes were hurenously dirty–one reason why I found nature dreadful. I abruptly stopped as I heard something moving around in the nearest bush. My heart began to rapidly leap out of my chest. Out popped an adorable, little bunny. There’s no threat here. With every step I took, I began to notice the millions of shades of greens, browns, grays, and reds spread throughout nature. I grew tired of walking and that’s when I found this tree stump. I’ve spent two hours just sitting here enjoying my surroundings. This is not in the middle of nowhere. This is the middle of my soul, mind, and heart.

August ridge-line

Crowned with snow

Commands its charge;

Valleys, below

Supplicates

With waters shed

The life beneath

By streams are fed

The messengers,

At its behest

Summer sweet,

Springs do refresh

Long as its wealth

Of treasuries

Remains the king’s

To share with thee

photo credit:

Slow Dancing (USA) by

Paul Christian Bowman

The page rubs against my fingers as I begin turn it

Lost in the words on each piece of paper

I look up

Listening to the birds sing to me

Sitting quietly not even the squirrels seem to notice my presence

I like it that way

Their quick hands and feet move swiftly up and down the tree

surrounding it

Two of them chase each other as though it is a game

Unfamilar with their voices I wonder

What their saying

Higher up in the trees

The birds sing to one another

A song of love that only their math can comprehend

Can they see me?

Do they care that I'm watching?

I swing softly in my chair

making sure not to startle their afternoon play

I look up

Little pieces of light wink at me through the leaves as they sway

Inhaling softly

Taking in the oxygen that compliment my lungs

The book still lays flat on my lap

untouched and waiting to tell me more

I begin reading again

with the silent chirp of bird in the background

singing their love song.