This is the place you let yourself hear
The sound of your own small voice,
The trees leaning over the little creek
Bending your ear as they speak
In whispers, telling you...
You're home.
The only man made sound is your own.
Off a narrow path where you found the stream,
Maybe a mile or so from the farm, or longer
Where you finally took time to stop your wheels, and
Ignored the appeals of everything pulling at your sleeve
And spoke to yourself in your own way...
Listening closely for what you might say.
~John Patrick Starling