Can you feel it?
The way the trees turn their attention to you
Upon your footsteps into their home,
The whispered words they speak,
Their hymns in hallowed grounds,
Images coalescing with memories
From all the things they've seen,
Falling on ears too deaf to hear them,
Hearts too inattuned to beat to the rhythm of their frequency,
Eyes not blind but still unseeing.
Grasp at the quiet awe they invoke upon your being.
If only your senses fine-tuned enough.
If only the bliss weren't so fleeting.

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Valnuary, in the year 881 AF.