The Country

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

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