Winter Writings: Day 50

In the quiet of dark midnight
yellow petal moons
whisper of things not seen, but heard.
The east wind moves through the forest
curling around bare limbs,
murmuring encouragement to leaves yet to be.
The river moves quietly through grey mist,
singing softly of its travels
as it moves to join the sea.
The waves break upon the beach,
wailing their siren song, "come with me"
and explore the seven seas.
Nature's own musical plays
to a star-filled sky
and yet we sleep unknowning...