The wind blows through the grass
Yet I hear nothing

I have encountered wildlife
With a cold reception
This is their place
It belongs to them

Distant buffalo await my approach
They will be ready
The bird chirps
Breaking the unrelenting silence

Soft mist
Sun, grace us with your presence
I beg of you

Where am I?
I am not welcomed

The deer ran off with a scamper

I see everything
Yet I hear nothing.

This poem was written/submitted by Marcus J. Heerdt.