She’s talking to me in the morning,
When she’s dressed up in red and gold,
Her silhouettes soon turn to shadows,
I feel her warmth replace the cold.
She’s talking to me in the singing,
A chorus of a countless feathered choir,
That paints each rainbow and beyond,
Fills every sense of my desire.
She’s talking to me in the mountains,
Across the inland rolling plains,
The ocean, bays and estuaries,
When sending down the summer rains,
She’s talking to me in the tempests,
In what appears her wildest scorn,
Destroying with a maddened fury,
And then creates another dawn.
She’s talking to me in the water,
In never ending travel to the sea,
Scuttling all which gathers sparkle,
Or in stillness hiding mystery.
She’s talking to me in the evening,
Blazing blood does shroud the west,
And then her silhouettes return…
With Mother Nature I’ve been blessed.
She’s talking to me every moment,
She won’t accept me standing still,
She holds no vacuum in her hands,
And she is well prepared to kill.