The Stones and the Trees

We scream in circles.
Voices cyclical, cyclonic.
Our echoes escaping their return.
Now on a collision course with the     reality of our understanding.
Vast is the spectrum of our consciousness, as it unwinds into the helix of perception.
We exist as do the inanimate.             Taking up space on a dimensional plain.
How envious they must be,
The stones and the trees,                           Of the eyes that we have and the sights that we see.
Of the sounds that we hear and the breaths that we breathe,
All the senses of life that they can’t perceive.
For they have the time to cherish what we,
As sentient beings,
Choose not to see.
Would the smell of the rain
Or the chill of a breeze,
Be taken for granted
By the stones and the trees?