Extra tight turns

Around a certain gully

And I stumble

Into a quiet oasis,

My footsteps breaking

The euphoric tranquility

Hanging in the air

Between blades of grass.

Birds don’t sing here,

They just hop around, scratch dirt,

Flap their wings, tending

To their feathers solitarily.

Squirrels still forage lightly,

But don’t skitter between

Branches while bitterly chasing

Foes before chittering a

Warning at any passerby.

Oh who knows why it’s silent

Here; whether it be the lost

Garden of Eden fulfilling

Renewed vows, solace can

Be found here for all.