The woods are not still

We retreat to the woods to find serenity

I wonder sometimes how the woods see us

Perhaps we are like visitors who have come on a bad day

When its inhabitants all have too much to do

Birds packing up to migrate to elsewhere;

Leaves falling down to make blankets for those beneath;

Caterpillars feeding fast before they hibernate;

Squirrels rushing home before it gets dark;

And we sitting there amidst the red gold and green;

Unaware of how hectic this ‘still’ place can be.