My Reflection

Animals squawk and squeak.

Trees rustle furiously through wild wind.

My garden is pummelled, but not destroyed.

“Buzz,” go the bees.

“Whoosh,” goes the wind. 

I wonder why people cut down things like trees?

So precious

They are so comforting

When they swirl through the wind.

It's wet,

It’s dry

And it’s home.