What are they trying to tell me?
The trees, the river, the soft falling mist
I feel that if I look into them and listen to them
Long enough or hard enough
I will find the answers.
It is just past the edge of my vision
If I could just listen a little longer
If I could speak the language of the mossy green trees
Or see deep beneath the surface of the long, lazy river
If I could find a vision in the mist . . .
But they elude me.
Someday I will find them