Listen to the whisper of the rocks, telling their ancient story. 

Listen to the murmur of the river, speaking of past glory. 

Listen to the sighing of the winds, declaring the old ones’ coming.

Listen to the hum of the trees, chanting of the becoming. 

Hear the words and voices of the world, 

How they shout, how they scold, 

How they clamor and ring in the night,

And how they fill the silences and put them right. 

This is the meaning of the trees, the meaning of the rocks, 

The meaning of the river and the winds and the hemlocks,

All the pasts, the presents and the futures, 

Wrapped up in the nightly raptures

As the mouse scurries below all, 

Silent, profound, and small.