I hear someone say this,

pointing to the random plants

growing free and wild along the trail.

 

These “weeds” have flowers of amber,

crimson and violet. Beauty that has much to express,

but maybe too faintly in a clamorous world.

 

But this is why we love this path.

All the raiment of flora is exactly this; untended,

free to find its way to where it will be

and what it will become in arrangements it chooses.

 

And we wonder what these “weeds” would say

if their voices were more than the sound we hear

of the wind rustling the blades of their leaves.