The wind whistles across the land
Blowing branches of burdened trees as if they weighed nothing
Passing through the tight-woven trees as if they were made of mesh
It howls its misery

The trees sway with the wind, even the mightiest redwood
Their pride of ancient days forgotten
They creak and groan, making the forest sound like a monstrous thunderstorm
They wail their pain

The leaves rustle, rolling across the ground,
A warning call
They sense the danger on the air, the grief so strong it makes them quiver
They cry their despair

The deer dart through the undergrowth with their young,
All sense of safety long since blown away
They stop not to graze nor drink, least of all to look about themselves
They flee from death