Rain drips through the thick green canopy
Of a thousand year old forest.
I follow the descent of individual drops
From leaf to leaf to leaf.
True silence is intermittently broken
By the trill of a whippoorwhill.
I inhale the scent of oak and maple,
The unique aroma of wet ferns.
I hear the rush of cold, clean water
And I know that I am home.
By Nicole L. Bates