Note the groupings: Forest.
Downpour. Chorus.
The bird have changed
their voicings,
the cooler morning
has its music, too—
percussive drizzling
on a full canopy
of leaves, no melody
soaring over
the green equanimity.
A mist floats in,
suspended
across the upright
bars of trunks,
the evergreen chords.
Remember when
the tree fell?
a few sharp
cracks
and then the loud
softness
of it coming
to rest.
A pollen spore
descends
from its frond,
a fractal lichen
forks again,
but lento—
slow down
or you’ll miss it.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
Arrrr but that is a good one.
LikeLike
Thanks!!
LikeLike
“the loud softness of it coming to rest” is wonderful.
LikeLike
I was actual a little unsure of that, so glad to hear you like it!
LikeLike
Powerful lines…:)
LikeLike
Thanks! It’s a powerful place.
LikeLike