This nature I see is mine it doesn't belong to anyone else,
those winding roads with cracked asphalt, there has been
an earth disturbance at some faraway place, perhaps China
or cracks in the memory of the elderly.
Silence in the landscape of mine emits an aroma of forest,
is green as the vine, ghostly as haze over a lake and hums
like a vanishing echo of a childhood lost by those who had
grown up too quick and could no longer chase rainbows.
I drive west or east, or if the wind blows it is renewed and
I must leave as I can't keep it, more than I can keep
the golden bird with brown wings that flies in front of me.
This nature is a part me and can't be shared, as your mind
has its observations and a sense of what is amazing.