It nervously splinters the patient silence
At times ready to thrash through the underbrush
But it does not
Cutting a slow fade in the setting (rising?) sunlight
Its soft steps crunch the dried leaves and twigs
Whispering nothings and everything
Glancing to and fro for its bearings
Always moving forward to that place
Both known and unknown
Composed of a past and of a future
Under the faint moon just appearing (disappearing?) in the sky

Pushing through the vegetation
Though not quite leveling or clearing
Its trail is at once masked by the grass
Just tall enough to obscure
Yet marked enough by the diverging (converging?) celestial lights
One behind
One ahead
It follows as it leads
Each step is its own opening note
To unlocking the music of that patient silence
Holding things unheard
Holding things yet to be heard

Despite the silence draping a veil on its path
It steadily continues on
Firm enough to know how far it has come
Gently enough not to disturb the serenity
Lest it unleashes the chaos
As it has no intentions of becoming lost
For there are nothings and everything
To be gained when it sees just enough ahead
To be heard when it softly treads

And, that place awaits it
There is no doubt