As I sit by the old creek,
I watch the water flow down the stream;
Running in between every pebble in its way,
And carry the sand grains down its path.
The wind whispers its mysterious melody to me,
And the cold, hard earth echoes back its silent reply.
A deer in the distance follows its fawn;
Searching for the family’s next meal.
The snow on the ground has become crusty,
And the skies above have turned a pale grey.
Snow begins to swiftly pour down,
And lay itself flat against the old snow drifts left behind.
It’s a strange silence; indescribable to say the least.
A silence that startles you,
And makes you look around as if someone was watching.
A snowflake lands on my nose,
And melts from the heat of my breath.
I lay myself flat against the frozen earth,
And listen to the silence.
It’s the voice of trees, and the wind;
The voice of the mountains, and the open skies.
It’s the voice of nature,
Whispering its story as the snow gently falls.