As I sit on my perch,

Watching Twilight's strong hold,

Others scurry,

Waking or resting.

The smell of trees relax me,

Pine, Maple, and Cedar mingling

The moist air feels refreshing,

Despite being below freezing.

Three needles tickle,

Ever growing, yet so slowly.

The wind carries sound

A whisper of a thought, incomplete.

Clouds are gathering,

I sense a thunderstorm.

Moving to a smaller tree,

I watch the fields.

Rain begins to fall

Leaving a differenct scent in the air,

When it rains, I wonder who cries,

Not all are happy.

A flash of light, anger,

A clap of thunder, abuse.

Yet I also know

It could mean various things.

The storm is far,

A long distance between

Light and sound.

As the wind blows,

I vanish.

This is not my world,

I live a peace at

The planet of her imagination.