The sun was out.
It beat across the roof tops like a fiddler,
Playing songs of merriment and joy to come.
The birds sang in chorus
While the people sowed their seeds,
And plucked their weeds,
And carried about their every day.
The wind conducted their music to the fields,
But had grown too faint, too weak
To be heard over the whispers
That buzzed about before the wall of trees.
No music played here,
For no musician dared to try.
Their music, calling like an innocent lamb,
Might draw out the wolves-
So the people let their music fade,
And let the whispers grow louder,
Only for them to fall before
The silence in the trees.
behold my growing empire.
“That feeling of stability, like a sapling having just survived it’s first winter, it’s roots pressed deep in the velvet soil beneath. A moment of being whole, being one; A moment so beautiful, that even sweet whispers might open the cage and let it all fly away.”