The field of trees

Out at the edge of my vision was the field of trees
growing out of the withering plain
shouting encouragement to the world.


  Out at the edge of my  vision was the wandering oak
branches billowing in the wind
having conversations with the trees.


  Out at the edge of my vision was the whistling wind
blowing through the plains on a magic carpet
buzzing the wandering oak and settling into the trees.


  Out at the edge of my vision was the sparkling brook
running with the grasslands and following the curves of the plains
rushing past the wandering oak and whispering to the wind
as in ran on in and pooled up in among the trees.


  Out at the edge of my vision was the whippoorwill
saying its name to the world over and over again
while it chattered away with the wandering oak
and whispered its name to the wind
along its low flight over the sparkling brook
as it flew in among the grasses living within the trees.


  Out at the edge of my vision was the field of trees
looking around itself at the wandering oak with a smile
listening to the wind as it rustled its way through the leaves
watching the reflections of the sun on the pool of the sparkling brook
chattering away with the whippoorwill as it nested in the grasses
thinking to itself, what a wonderful world!