Are you waving at me, tree?
When usually you're so still.
All the other branches are
A hazy Monet
But one leafy twig
Is nodding at me.
Are you waving?
Or is it merely a rogue
Breeze
Teasing my imagination.
Perhaps in all your years
Of living
You see us rushing about.
Worrying about money
And wars
And fashion.
And you whisper to us
Peace be still.
Enjoy the sun.
Feel the wind.
Laugh with the birds.
All is well.
But we rush by
Barely noticing
The fresh green of Spring.
The lacy shadows
That dance at our feet.
We rush by
Looking at digital
Images of
Ones and zeroes.
Social media
That isn’t social.
We miss the whispers
And the waves.
The rustling sighs
As you ruffle your leaves.
Praying one day
We will look up
And see
What we are missing.
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