Listening
What becomes audible only when we're willing to pause
I love how the wind plays with a tree full of leaves,
a drift of green chimes in the forest’s breath.
Not music, exactly, but something like it,
a brushing of sleeve on sleeve, as if the branches
were leaning close just to say this to one another.
It’s barely audible—only when the wind finds
the right angle, the right note of longing or joy.
And I wonder, watching the slow sway, what they’re
saying in that secret tongue of rustle and pause,
and if listening is all that’s ever been asked of me.
Published in Poets’ Espresso Review: Volume 15, Issue 1
This poem came out of the same slow turning that shaped my earlier piece, “The Time It Takes to See.” It began when I started easing out of my usual rush and letting myself actually listen. If that earlier poem was about noticing the lives moving around me, this one turns inward and outward at the same time, toward the conversations happening all the time in the world itself: the wind moving through the trees and the quiet exchanges unfolding in places I used to pass right by.
“Listening” continues that practice of paying attention. It explores what I can hear only when I’m willing to stop long enough for the noise inside me to settle. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how gently nature offers its guidance, never demanding and never urgent, asking only for presence, patience, and the willingness to notice what’s already there.
As always, a huge THANK YOU for taking the time to read my poem. Without you, my voice would be a whisper just floating in the air.
While at university, there was a tree, a huge ancient oak, located on a triangle of land across from a laundromat, and there were many times that I would hug it walking to or from class. I felt good. I don’t know how the tree felt.
This one has me taking some deep breaths, Sam. Just so moving. I’ve been in such a listening place throughout this fall season. This one made me pause…so good🙏🏼appreciate your words very much