|picture credit: http://www.deviantart.com/art/ashes-of-man-and-oak-and-pine-49140776|
The pine trees whisper, whisper with the wind,
as do the notes that float though my mind
from a song that’s not yet been written,
my skin ripples as a nameless bond in me breaks free
and it may be with a touch of fear, or it may be with the surge of excitement
that I follow the whispers I now understand, for to shrink would be to die.