Hidden Growth

In the same way the grass whispers,

And drops its dew in the early wind,

How it sways in the morning after

A night time asleep, dormant, longing

For the sun.

It declares, “I AM GOD”

But not in so many words.

After a while, you reflect the sentiment,

While the tree resting overhead, inordinate

Against the sky

Boasts countless rivulets of leaves

And ever-reaching deltas of

Ancient root-web.

Each golden thread of connection;

The warm and blind mole,

Snacking on the remains of a worm

Who was too successful to survive;

Tendrils of a connecting fungus,

An underground arboretum of

Recycled nutrients and the wealthy

(Recent) deposits of a worm transformed.

It touches the grass, that benevolent connection.

“WE ARE ONE.”

Quite as simple as it gets.