It's Still Life

III.
How the Forest Gathers You

listen—
a single leaf, parchment-thin,
twists on its stem like a key
in a lock you can’t see.

it clicks open the breeze,
and suddenly the whole canopy
is whispering in code.

feel—
the light doesn’t fall here; it clings—
to your arms like warm honey,
to the creases of your sleeves,
even to your eyelashes,
until you blink—slow—
and the light stutters like your heartbeat.

beneath you—
the roots hum.
place your palm on the nearest trunk—
its bark is the braille
of storms and seasons.

the tree doesn’t speak—
but if it did,
it would tell you how your breath
just synced with rustling leaves,
how your weight on the moss
is a psalm it knows by touch.

this is how the forest gathers you—
not in grand gestures,
but in the hush between the rustling,
the way shadows slide over your shoes
as if to polish them with darkness,
the way the air parts just slightly
to let you through—then seals itself
behind you, seamless as water.

PAD (Poem-a-Day Challenge) Day 11 with Prompt: Nature. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025 All Mischief Reserved.