There is life in them,

There is life in them,

The path knows its own way

Taking its time to meander

Listening to the footfalls

Of travellers.

Pushing back,

Resisting the urge to rise up.

The gate post looks on

Guarding the entrance to a field of interest

With a straight back

Weathering slowly

With the passage of days.

The ravages of time writ large

Across its naked trunk

The unvarnished truth

Laid bare.

As it babbled uncontrollably

The words tumbled, one over the next

In a rush to pass on

A stream of natural wisdom.

The willow tree rustled

Its approval,

Bowing down

To cover its knees

With a skirt of rich green leaves.

There is laughter in the air,

The creak of a hinge

Is a reminder of good husbandry.

The call of the wilderness

Is carried on the wind

As a warning to be careful

And to listen

To the language

Of the natural order.

There is meaning in all things,

Hidden within a silence

And in every space between.