I remember exactly where I was when I wrote this. There is a lake on the campus of my university, and I was sitting in a pavilion that overlooks it. I was drawn in by the beauty of that spring day, and how all of the elements of nature seemed to work together to produce this fantastic landscape. Sounds and sight, it all captivated me.
Intermittent croaks from the toad on it’s pad,
humming a foundation for nature’s symphony.
Bobbing beneath a weeping willow’s way,
as the tendrils brush the flowing azure away,
The midday birds trill their sweet soprano,
in a swirling sequence of sunlight’s song.
The heron patrols as lord of the lake,
an occasional alto for the song’s sake.
The reeds and rushes writhe in rhythm,
and rustle in a present percussion.
But when the wind whirls with the leaves,
outshone is the song that reeds weave.
Silent spiders silk spins a sack where I can sleep,
soothed by the sways and sweeps of the symphony.
As I find myself woken to the warmth of the wild,
why does sentience suddenly seem so vile?