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.