Nothing but trees outside, deep green
surrounding the cabin, light filtering
through leaves and branches, slight
movement, and the song of tree frogs.
I sit, still my mind, and take it all in.
Fuzzy-headed, I try to understand
how light is seen only in the things
it illuminates, and wind is seen only
in the things it moves, and choruses
of frogs are not seen but heard, and
only when one is still enough to notice.
©2025 Jim Magaw
