When my words light not my nights, do they find comfort in another’s heart? When my words go and play in the daylight upon another’s page, shall I cry at their absence upon the stage?
In joy, I write. In joy, I be. In joy, I rest with the tree beings. And know whenever words were meant to come through me, will be.
To know how many beautiful souls, awake and aware will catch words on moonlit nights. Hug them, sit with them, cry with them, laugh with them — then set them free, makes my heart happy.
As I be in moments, without letters some nows, and for whatever now, with letters — how it shall be.
With no upset or need. With no urgency or speed. Now my words and I sit and interbe whenever they please.
As the chill is burned off by the glorious near Summer heat, and the cool breeze tickles my feet, soul to soul we interbe.
The bugs sing to me sweetly, my letters light up my night smilingly. I leave them in this moment, in pure delight.
On this day of freedom, as the wind dances with the tree beings, my imagination attempts to envision a life with more peace than this? Is that possible?
For the peace I am one with now is greater than I ever once could imagine.
