When the winds blow in the mountains, they create a music with the river and leaves of deodar, oaks and pines. A man never thinks of poetry, but observes it, feels it. The words do not exist then, only music. The soul of the mountains one cannot capture in pages. I have only tried to write about the music, and a little more from elsewhere. Mountains send the winds to other places too.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Tree Song
I wait at the circle where the roads halt some of the trees I know sing a tune at noon when vehicles and dust are more settled.. I will teach you how to listen, come along a moment in stillness and the tree song
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