It is music for my soul to stand as still as the trees and listen to the music in the breeze. The wind whispers stories most people don’t hear. They never stop to listen as they are too busy scuttling far and near, doing what they think are important things.

As I look around and see such busy bees, it makes me stop more often to appreciate what the breeze is saying to me. My soul does protest at such a loud and noisy mess, noise and mess created by man.

When the noise and mess become too much, my soul listens to me and we go dancing amongst the trees as the breeze sings to me. The breeze whispers tales of things old and new, of ancient beings just like me and you.

The breeze tells me of the civilizations of old where ancient beings danced ever so bold. The trees sway in the breeze heartily yelling, “We agree! We agree!” The breeze tells the truth, for when noise and mess intrude, the breeze whispers and old tune to dance to.