a whisper in the wild;
The trees fall in line
as the autumn breeze
ruffles feathers,
bristles pines,
moves the air in strange directions.
Sudden gusts of wind
wreak havoc on the beauty of the scene:
mysterious,
ominous,
charming.
Like a deer in headlights,
the leaves stop;
Fallen branches don’t touch the ground,
for the layer of leaves is a barrier to the earth.
There is only
a cold whistle,
an unknown whisper.
Trees are skeletons,
swaying in the crisp air;
Undisturbed, untouched.
The frame is frozen in ice.