the forest’s shifting winds

quiet and then, a raging freeway

not obnoxious, not as from a city balcony

living, stifled by the constant buzz and blur

it’s really the engines, yes,

but will someone please stop these people

can’t they just be still, shut it off, shut up

these soulless, robotic morons

I’m angry at them, I’m annoyed, I am one of them

the mixed-up man cannot be quiet

all day and all night, they talk and talk

wow, a hurricane!

here comes the rain, here comes the wind

what will WE do!

the eye of the storm rages on

not a thought of you, not of me

we are nothing in its mind’s eye

its body swells, living and breathing

in it’s pure thrashing nature

all the while, high above sea level

the mountainous granite holds firm

the alpine trees start an easy sway

with a familiarity of storms past

the patinaed bells and chimes calls out

“be quiet, be the nothing”

so I sit in stillness, as storm and forest collide

crossed-legged with hips pinned to the earth

Amy Wunders is a Poet and a Potter who plays with word-strings and mud.