She hears the wind,
moaning a low song,
as she walks between light and darkness,
upon a bed of feathered fronds
and fallen branches,
dissolving into the earth.
Listening to her frail breaths,
the sympathetic trees
touch her shoulders
with trailing hands,
offering their strength.
Towering gladiators,
they stand against the raging sky.
Speaking no word,
of the vehemence of storms,
they remain,
solid and immovable.