Occasionally, the Arts & Culture section will publish creative writing submissions from University students. If you would like to submit a creative writing piece for The Argus, please reach out to the Arts & Culture editors.

I admire how the branches of the trees grow skywards, 

In spite of gravity. 

Perhaps, in defiance of it.

 

Maybe they are trying to touch heaven. 

Or maybe they’re just curious about the oasis of blue above them. 

Maybe they yearn to learn about the sky. 

Is it cold? 

Soft? 

…Empty?

 

The trees sway to the rhythm of the wind: left, right, left, right. 

Their leaves clap along: rus-tle, rus-tle, rus-tle. 

Maybe the branches try to talk to the wind as they dance to the tune,

Asking questions about parts of the world they’ll never see. 

Maybe we hear the wind’s response? The whistle. 

Or perhaps that’s just another layer to the melody. 

And there’s no conversation at all. 

 

Nature has its own language, 

Something we’re not meant to understand.

But if you close your eyes and listen, 

Maybe you’ll hear something in the silence.

 

As the wind brushes past you, maybe it’ll speak. 

If you hear a creak in the trees as they sway, maybe they’ll whisper. 

Or maybe the stillness of the sky will raise its voice. 

And bless you with its secret gift.