The trees don't walk around here but
you can see how they might stalk the fields in gangs,
the stronger pushing over the weaker.
The wise ones finding a field of their own
for silent meditation; a century or so.
When they speak we should listen.
And these ten tonne rocks once hurled by giants
wailing shrieks of terror forgotten
learnt to sing to their veined neighbours
gathering in circles for millenia of song
and, hush, the echoes can still be heard.