Do they complain to the sun, and the rain,

and the cold. Can I see their arms

waving to one another in the morning light?

Sometimes, in the forest, I see my dogs stop,

and look up, they can hear so much more than me,

do they hear the trees welcoming them as they run,

laughing at the games they play on the path?

I have no evidence, but I can tell you that trees

can be deafening sometimes, when they cry out together,

Mother Earth spins around.

The poet Mary Oliver says the trees speak back,

especially to the wind.

“If you can hear the trees in their easy hours,”

she writes,

“of course you can also hear them later,

crying out at the sawmill.”