Voices in the forest
Deep in the woods where the woodruff blooms and the stream idly rushes past the bend I hear the willow whispering in an ancient tongue. Hush, my friend, speak no more. Listen to the willow. Listen to her tales of ancient times and of beings of old. Don't disturb the wind as it plays in the birchtree's leaves. Distant sounds rumble through the night like a calling of doom. Streets and roads, the modern veins, keep drowning the gentle voices of the trees as lorries rush by. And we almost fail to listen. Quiet, my friend. Put your head to the bark, close your eyes. Listen. Yes. That is your blood, brother. As the warm stream runs over our naked feet, our blood runs through our veins to show us the truth over all the lies. The lie that we are not a part of this. The lie that we are not wild in our hearts. The lie that we are not another leaf of this forest. Don't believe the lies, brother. Close your eyes. Listen. And feel how you are a part of the all-encompa...