Whisper of the Pines

The wind told a story, soft through the trees. The shadow of

someone, but who could it be? The creek comes to him

so quiet, so low. I reach for the answer,

but I'll never know. Every stone has a name. Every route has

a tale. And the forest keeps secrets where voices grow pale.

It's a whisper of the pines calling out my name. A shiver down

my spine, never quite the same. The air is cold.

The stars align. It's the whisper of the pines. The moon's like