by Ayasha Cantey
Amidst the whispers of the ancient woods, where the deer’s antlers crown the silent king. The noble grace in shadows understood. In nature’s realm, where every song takes wing. The wasps nest hangs, a fortress in the air. A home of buzzing life in a hive’s embrace. While spiders weave their silken willowy webs. In every egg, a world awaits, cautiously forming its eight legs. Spring trees bud, a promise yet to bloom. A verdant hope, a tapestry of green, becomes the decadent algaes bloom. Awaiting the dance of light on the water’s shifting sheen. The mud, a humble bed for life’s repose. A cradle where the earth’s embrace is sweet, coated in light dew. Whispered tales of time’s relentless beat. All become life’s secrets to find ones chamber. Among the ruins of a city’s past, a solitary building stands in decay. Once teeming with the bustle of the day, now echoes whispers in the shadows cast. The sounds that now embrace this silent space, are the winds that sigh through this broken place. Nature’s orchestra once so unknown, now sings its song with an unspoken grace. Within these walls, where time has ceased to be, nature reclaims what humans left behind. With vines that weave through cracks in harmony, and creatures small now thrive where none is confined. A metaphor for time, a river’s flow, no clocks to tick, no hours to bestow. For in this world devoid of humankind, nature thrives, adapts, and redefines.
