One can still hear the voice of this land. 

An ancient voice in a forgotten language. 

One continuous deep throated howl

Declaring its relationship with the sea and the wind

and time.

Enormous things. Long long time.

One voice.

The relationship manifests in its green top fringe

 of strong misshapen trees 

rooted perilously on the blackened rocks, 

whose deep furrows and cracks 

harbor small bits of ancient stones,

And shelter the most delicate and sensitive of life.

Everyday, this sea, this land and this wind

join with one strong voice.

It may be that

my ears have become insensitive to the voices of other landscapes.

Who is listening? 

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