Would that the world were a silent place,
That is, void of the chaos of mortal men
Filled instead with wind and water,
And mountains cutting through thick forests.
Walking, feel both the warmth and coolness of soft
As it rises beneath the soft weights of my toes
And I, like wandering root do feel,
walking under the looming trees.
Inside a humid fog, repose,
and awaken, not wet, but warm
The smell of vibrant moss suffusing the air
and the senses.
The clouds, turbulent in color and size
Wage war, though fruitless, to claim the sky
from the sun,
But none dare challenge the resplendent moon,
who, with her starry subjects, rises against
a midnight-blue canvas.
She is whole, tonight,
and the clouds have become still and light,
The forests have retreated to mystery,
and the mountains lose their arrogance.
And there is nothing to fear,
No chaos of mortal men.