A whisper in the ivy

I hear a whisper in the ivy.
Is it the wind, blowing through the leaves?
On the ground, in a bed of green, covered with shadows, I see something.
I kneel down to look closer, but there is nothing there.
Another whisper. This time behind me.
And yet another. To my left. To my right.
It is the wind, and it wants to tell me something.
It breathes down my neck, past my arms, through my fingers.
“What is it?” I whisper back. “What do you want to tell me?”
Silence. The wind keeps its secrets, locked in the ivy.