I took a walk into the trees,

Alone and without fear.

The wind whistled through leaves,

A song that was just for me.

Branches showed me pictures that were unscathed by man.

I took pictures of the colors,

Not with a camera but my eyes and memory.

I picked up a rock from the soil.

It told a story with the lines etched into the surface.

Cicadas echoed my thoughts,

My thoughts of white noise.

I took a walk into the trees,

Alone,

And became fearful for the future of it.