how is it then
that the crickets chirping
and the wind in the branches
or even the whisper of waters
are loud enough to pull me from you.
I sit and call from the mountains
yet the rustle of leaves
keeps me from hearing your voice
not because of your silence
but instead because of my preoccupation
with more earthly affairs.
so I cry out again
over the sound of my feet
softly crunching the ground beneath me
yearning to hear you speak
above even the other beautiful sounds.