Stepping softly makes the grass breathe
easier, I imagine

I like to touch the trees as I pass by,
the bark leaving a tingle on my fingers
I like to imagine that in my fingerprint a small spot of warmth
is absorbed into the heart of the tree
I intend for the tree to understand I mean
"Thank you"

I whisper when I'm by myself.
I imagine the wind to be full of words
of soft-spoken wanderers,
content with the slowness of
deeply breathing the world in.