A song in rustling leaves

Here, where silence, where rays of sunshine
get lost in the dance of the leaves, I found
my place, my tiny spot,
a leaf falls and pulsates.

“Philodromus dispar”
they call me, in writings,
where people form words, spin threads
to capture my world, my self.

How could they understand my life?
While leaves rustle and shadows whisper.
Silence speaks, who hears
between the leaves and gentle breeze?

My fur of gold and brown, painted
with black lines that escape time.
A witness in the sea of green,
in my tiny spot, my place.

And so cause rustling,
hard to see, but always here,
And carry within me the song
of life weaving in the light.