Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet
                and the winds long to play with your hair  - Kahlil Gibran

We listen to Earth beat but our sounds
skip to different rhythms. You look at this
landscape but do not hear, do not feel or
see the same. Like lava, sticky sap flows,
oozes in treacle marbles from ancient
lichen-covered limbs. Anurous skinks scurry.
A small lace monitor makes scratchy sounds
in streaks across silky-oak floors. Flocks
of scarlet-headed finches flit in frenzied
flecks of color. Green frog croaks like a
distant didgeridoo; goanna races in rustling
sprints up high-rise trees. Slender hooded
orchids greet light, stretch tall in waving,
shaking shadows-stirred, mottled
perspectives. Yet, you say that you feel
quite alone, unmoved by friendly calls
of the crickets or cicadas.


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