The will of the environment
hides in wood—nature’s firstborn.
It speaks through unfurling fibers,
resonating in sensitive nerves.
In the spring wind,
we wove a forest of our own.
It is language.
We borrowed fire from the unknown.
It flickers in our eyes,
pulses in our hearts.
Within it, we glimpse a finite future
lit by a light that never fully belongs.
Those who own the flame
must wear an authentic face
—or vanish with it.
We raised this treasure from the soil,
forged tools to shape the world.
But metal shaped us more—
defining our dreams, driving our wars.
We played with atoms to chase the stars,
or to gild those convenient lies.
It holds the best and worst
our minds have cast upon the Earth.
Older than our sun,
water carried the essence of life.
Our time moves within its current—
a quiet cycle of return.
The wisest never speak of learning,
but follow water’s way—
flowing freely:
open, unbound, curious, and kind.
