Tell me friend. How does one speak to the world?
Does one yell from a mountain top and hope for a reply?
Or does one speak to the trees, commune with them, and listen for an answer?
I deeply wish to know.

I wish to know their stores.
I long to hear their tales.
All they have seen, all they have heard.
The wisdom that the world could give us
If we only could care to hear.

But there again, what good would it do if
The world could speak to us its secrets?
We have a lifetime of stories, tales, experiences, at our fingertips and still no one listens.
Too many live in dreadful ignorance for the words of the world
To have meaning.

So perhaps, maybe not tell me how you speak to the world.
Tell me not for my comfort, but for the comfort of the trees,
And the restfullness of the mountains.
Let them not know that their words would go so unheeded.