leaves rustle with the wind,
breaking the monotony
of a patient stillness
the woods have donned
in their long wait
for your presence
a hush that listens
for your call

grass, green with anticipation,
waits for your feet
to nuzzle its fleece,
leaving no mark
for anyone to trace
and take you back.

the air, rich with fragrances
gathered from faraway lands;
the breath of flowers in bloom,
the curl of tender leaves,
and exotic spice
no one has planted.

scents released
by rushing streams
and tiny waterfalls,
and by drenched in morning dew
topsoil

the musky-sweet of creatures,
some hiding,
others on the prowl,
unbathed.

the air, heavy with treasures,
readies itself
to tingle your senses
as you arrive.

and above it all,
a life untouched
by the hum and glare
of modernity,
and the boring rhythm
that crumbles on itself
into nightfall.