Letter: Whispers in the Wetland

Submitted by Greg Alderete.

In hush of green, where stillness grows,
Beneath tall pines in quiet rows,
A mirror pond reflects the sky—
A piece of blue the trees let lie.

The moss hangs low on branches bare,
Like time caught frozen in the air.
A chorus hums in shaded glen
Of things that stir where light meets fen.

Each blade, each leaf, a breath, a sigh,
In sun-drenched pools where secrets lie.
No path is marked, no voice is loud,
Just whispers slipping through the shroud.

The forest speaks in muted tones
Of ancient roots and weathered bones.
And here the soul, so small, so wide,
Finds peace with shadows at its side.