Seated at the right hand of nature
genuinely known as,
the quiet place.
Gravel gavels of hearsay…
‘if it is fear that makes you run…
it is artificial rhetoric that makes you hide.’
Therefore, it is with animal ambiguity that beckons you to
Thou a raven with ravenous chords of choir chatters…
And, the four legged bandits of the night may put out…
a decadent display.
There is a quiet place
a walk with nature
and you are home.
Alone, yet, there is comfort through to the bone.
No matter the extent or the try.
It is a lone path to the quiet side.
There are some who say this is
‘for you not for me…’
‘never could it be…
seeing what you see.’
So with shallow breath encased with deep thought
I digress…there is no mystical spot.
A quiet place to belong
Those who walk with nature…
are never far from home.