The quiet times were always the loudest.
The grass would whisper,
the trees would coddle together,
preparing a surprise for the 
humans' senses,
protecting the sun from
vengeful eyes
        with its patchy branches.
        Specks of light would
           rush through,
        a result of the trees position
       among the sea of tall grass.
       Both would bend to the wind,
days spent admiring the power
of a being that only
existed in passing,
reflecting on its fallen members
in a jovial compassion.
Neither the grass or the tree 
would linger in its disposition.
    The sun would shine regardless.