the Spirit breathes musically gilded tunes and tones that shine with heightened eye lids.
the trees don't sing. would they like to?
if they did, there'd be resonances of bass and oak, hollow booms of old breaths, heavy gasps.
still, the wind directs their attention asking to not twist or turn or become uprooted due to the negligence of attention.
the booms bring beats. the feet's reverberate the land and old anger will never do old bark any favor.
the elders in the woods say,
"your flattery does not flatter me or any tree in our society.
our fruit won't ripen earlier or later than expected.
our flowers won't blossom due to your tender cares or
patronage. nature commands us. not, who, you man"?
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