Listening to the Silence

The pines stand listening to the silence.
It is deep and goes on and on.
They can hear it in the center of their cells,
in the snow at their feet, pressing against
and rising from their bark, caressing every
needle on every bough, both those in shadow
and those bathed in light. It feels like truth.
Far in the distance, traffic hums on a highway,
sounding like meditating monks.

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