Sit and listen to the voices of the trees. The tall pines pass messages between their branshes, shah shah in a great crescendo, it sounds like the waves breaking on the beach. The eternal sway of the planet, the movement we all tap in to, if your willing to sit and listen, willing to tune in to it. The trees move to the rhythm of the winds, to the rhythm of the oceans. Mother natures movement, it echoes in my blood, in its movement through my veins in the rhythm of my heartbeat, the waters in my womb. The pines grow louder, more persistant, and the oaks echo a response. They speak a different dialect, the wind sounds different through their naked branches; less of a whisper and more of a hoot. The wind dies down, the trees are silent, a message has been passed, what do the trees say to each other when there are no humans to hear? A star winks at me before the fog reclaims the sky they will continue their dance tonight behid the secrecy of its veil. I wonder do they ever get tired of their dance? Does perseus ever tire of chasing the archer? Maybe when the fog closes in and the humans cannot see, they dance a different dance, they leave their orderly spot in the night sky to come together in beautiful patterns not meant for our eyes. Listen. Close your eyes and open your senses to the world. I hear a windchime bell out softly, in my minds eye it is the bell on a tinkers cart, on a gypsy's skirt, the patter of rain turns into children running quietly through the streets, playing a game or stealth and daring, these noises are timeless. I could be anywhere listening to these sounds, maybe when I open my eyes I will be somewhere else, someone else, but right now I am pure id. I am the very essance of me. I am not a girl or a boy or a student or a child or a jew or the owner of a dog and two cats and a beat up bike, I am just energy, pure id, pure soul. For a second I can almost understand the trees. What messages do they hold for me If I can only listen, I strain myself but I only hear the ocean.