In the country
There is life.
Sit quietly
It will tumble over you
Slowly becoming thunderous as you open yourself to it
Life is here
Urban Chaos challenges it
Unable to hear anything above its own din
It asks, “What do you have to offer?”
The cafes hum like a hive of bees
It watches nature through a wall of glass
Lattes and loose change clink and chatter to themselves
Gravelled footsteps walk the path
And tourists carry prizes from places they’ve been
The dirt stains their white shoes
They wipe it off and grimace
Nature sits and watches quietly
Keeping its judgment to itself
Little Wren 