A Question for Nature


I wonder what nature sees of me…when pretending not to be?

Does she see me as a threat to her luminosity?

Do the robins nest further up a shady pine?

Is my manner of awe and unsure footing a hindrance to her placating design?

As my oar settles into her complacently, mysterious, waters…does she sense that my intentions…are unkind?

One foot after another, I go back to her response.

The whistle through broken limbs and the frigteningly, gothic music that descends.

If there be admiration, it is one sided.

In nature’s woods…it is just pretend.

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