The rock on the cliff
watches the forest from up high.
The canopy is still,
quiet, with the soft sound
of the breeze through the piney brush.
Any one movement is
like a shooting star in the vast sky,
hardly noticed.
As the day rolls on,
not much happens.
The rock enjoys the quiet.
It’s one of those small things
that makes life rich.
The hot sun beats down,
but the cool surface of the rock
makes the heat slip away.
As the sun lies down
beyond the horizon,
rays of orange, yellows, and
pinks paint themselves across the sky,
making the forest canopy
a mystical gold.
If the rock could smile,
it would.
The dark spreads across the wood,
the trees casting shadows upon
the moonlit earth.
The rock is now a dark shape,
pressed against the mountain
full of simplicity
as the human world bustles on.
