Touching the simplicities of life,
The physical connections,
Of people and places past,
That we hear, touch, and taste.
The echoes play with our senses.
Between the trees,
We walk our path in shade,
With the whispers of eons,
Accompanying our steps.
The sun and stars,
Keeping time and timelessness.
They maintain their flowing rhythm.
It is merely the cold and warmth,
That move us on.
Regardless, in the end,
We possess a beauty,
Of existence and liminality.
unknownclimate 