Natural States Sitting. Crowned by the sun. Leaning. Blending Into the bark Of an oak. I am swallowed, Anchored in the firmament, Rooted. One with the soil. Staring With an intensity That needs to know the color Of the fair spring wind. Inhaling. Turquoise ice Pale mint Fresh teal of a breeze Aloft from the shadows. Crying. The heavens part Tears falling From between laced fingers Of a bruised churning sky I caress the rain, Still, quiet. Speaking Only with my eyes As it nourishes The forest of my soul. Copyright © 2004, Chris Anderson and Scott N. Loveall