They are watching

I walk down the path,
Down the river
Down the hill.
I know, I know
They are watching,
The pine trees watching over me.
They shed their skin, blanketing the floor with their needles.
They push around frigid wind
It caresses my face. 
The azure sky and the fluffy white clouds peers through 
My teachers, my guardians,
To watch the show
The show below.
Me, that solitary flower In the emerald grass field
I watch the Christmas frigate birds
Building their nest
Building their home
The clouds begin to cry
Over the birds, over me
The Christmas frigate birds.