Where Dwells that Quiet Friend

"But I can't hear you," I said.

The Tree was before my mind. A beautiful, natural tree. There were tall cool grasses in its cool grey shade, and a hollow in the blades where one might sit to ponder in quiet.

"I will have to find that place," I thought.

And so it struck.

That's quite right.

I must do that work.

Then there were the riverside trails I used to walk, in Falls and Springtimes past. 

There!

'There' were places like the Tree.

And then the yard. My yard. The yard I lost and loved. 

"I've had it there," thought I.

Then--

--"That's where I heard you, isn't it?"

But I knew no words from that yard. No visitations came to my mind of heavenly messages on that land.

Just quiet.

Quiet and joy.

"That's you, then?"

"You've been there all the time. I just can't hear."