Quiet in the wood.Robins hop from branch to branch.Gently, the branch sways—up down—again—up downand stops.

The breeze weaving around the treespushes plants over.Leaves jostle together.My footsteps odding out of the sounds.

Above, raucous rooks haw and cawwhile landing on branches.Ever so suddenly they take off—each a flapping ink blot acrosswinter’s gray sky—coughing out their caws.

Below, little ears listen.Growing and spreading with all the soundsthey hear. They listen in every moment, toevery creature, every step I take, every crowthat haws, constantly.