Wind wisp

As I watch the shadows wisp behind me, my breath slows its pace.
The wind brushes my hair into my face.
The birds call their songs to one another, the frogs croaking, then to a stop.
I rotate my smooth grey stone in my hand, all perfect.
The lake's water ripples from the wind, the ducks float unnoticed, swaying in the wind and waves.
The cars come by.
The birds come by.
The wind comes by.
But the trees stay rooted to their souls, and the mind's calling. Welcome, welcome. 
The leaves sing to us.
Everything I touch crunches and crackles.
The bark rough with every touch, with new and old branches.
This tree is a home, a haven, a life.
The soul holds everything with a new life from the old.
The sun.
The wind.
Our nature.