Listen to the constant chirping of the crickets.
Watch the blades of grass sway in the wind,
as the smell of the morning dew surrounds me.
My eyes follow the gentle ***** of the hill,
noticing the wildflowers scattered like coins in a well.
A couple is walking on the dirt path below,
oblivious to my gaze.
The tree’s rusted orange, saffron yellow leaves,
begin to drift down the path.
A lone discarded paper, an artificial tumbleweed.
The wind rattles the pages of my journal,
as if it is trying to keep nature a secret.

-Marissa Navedo