#WhisperingNature

Dear Conscience,

I hope you know the sound of
Her voice.
But if you have lost your way, I will remind you.

Her voice is the smallest of whispers:
A centipede skittering over a skeleton leaf.
A squirrel, tickling the outside of a tree with its claws.
A squelch of a slug slithering up a mossy stone.
A whoosh as a bird abducts that same slug.

All may lack significance to you.
But know Her song can also be melancholy:
Rats with knotted tails, entangled in each others lives.
Parasites murmuring secrets to bees.
Ants running in circles, dying without meeting their purpose.

Her whispers, despite how quiet,
could move mountains if we only stopped to listen.
Maybe 'The Exhibition of Her Small Noises' would make the big noises make sense:
climate change
sea rising
global warming
They are such big shrieks we plug our ears in pain,
preferring the cloistered coziness at
the
centre of
the spiral.

We must leave the warmth eventually.
Things might look far away, out of sight around a curve, but
all
must
spiral
outwards.
Maybe it is time to look at the small signs closer to the centre,
closer to us.

Listen to the small, the weak and the meek.
Make the choice to not burn Her to the ground,
all because of our comfortable
padded shells.

[@Metta_Zen
I was not sure who to tag, but was reading a few of your posts and I admire your insights into spirituality and the natural world. Always an interesting read 🌿]

© Eva Irvine