Whispering Pines
You ever sit in a place like this and just... exist? Not doing much, just soaking in the breeze that smells a bit like nostalgia and pine needles. These are the days that slip into the pockets of memory, light slipping through autumn leaves. Only a few footprints ahead, the earth knows we wander but doesn't mind the company.
Footprints Leading Nowhere...
There's a little path here — well, there's dozens, but this one's calling, whispering secrets. Bet you can't follow them without losing your thoughts. They're not going anywhere in particular, you see. Just looping back with a chuckle. Probably like us, just no one told them there’s goodbye in hello.
And then you notice the trees. Some bent sort of way like they're saying, “What’s up?” Lean in closer, whisper maybe: “Keep your hands open.” You wonder about their stories, but the bark doesn't reply. Just watches, embraces the moment like an old friend.
Forget the time, the worldly must-dos — this is what it is. Or maybe just what it was meant to be, here under the whispering canopy.
Crossroads Dancers danced nowhere.