In the woods where whispers gather,
the leaves of maple sing songs of
forgotten constellations drifting
through the amber light of another
June.
Cosmic tendrils cradle thoughts,
the universe knitting paths
in the kaleidoscope of silence,
every star a note lost
in the cosmic dust.
Stand beneath the timeless
canopy, beneath hands of
earth's elder trees, and listen
as galaxies pull past, tender
echoes of creation's sway.