the quiet must be heard
an arboreal stillness
oaks in meditation standing sentinels
in their frosted amber crust
a misted radiance in the morning blaze
we must listen
as the leaves listen
carrying their messages from the wind
rippling through the mildewing trees
to the edge of the wood
have we lost the drift of the sun
forgotten how the shade falls
where the gauzy moss grows
as the pheasant rasps
in our coming turn to winter
paulhp poetry 