
When Trees Fall
Yes of course we make a sound. All of us here
hearing
when you do not.
Just this morning (as you slept) every stone spoke in a vibratory roar so loud, the sea responded in kind. Spruce, bark-beetled and wind-cracked, returned with an earthheart-thumping crash. Moose calves paused their murmuring to listen. Raven, perched on a squeaking branch, whisper-ruffled wing feathers, then sent plop-plop-droppings to the ground. Bear, woken by the buzz of flies on shit, grunted and rose, scratching thick-itchy-furred back against cracking, splitting bark. Morning birds sang. Bear drummed rough-duffed feet against the still settling stones, humming with aftershock, and angled toward the scrape muted by river rush: salmon fin, greeting rock.
Nothing vibrates in isolation. Every form is heard
one way or another. Yours is the voice that depends
on you.
Really good. Interesting view of waking and our voice being heard.
Thanks Chris!