The things we find,
Out there,
Nowhere.
But always,
It is somewhere,
Even if no one else is there.
Sometimes those are the best places.
There is always something
in nothing.
Silence being wonderful.
The soft drip of rain on dried dead leaves blanketing the ground.
While the sun shines
and the thorn bush stings.
There is much to be learned,
Wandering lost
in the woods.
Until found.
Nature has a way of being beautifully cruel.
Without remorse,
it is replenished.