Untitled #90

The cackling of cicadas during the summer nights

The humorous conversations of the birds as the sun exits its usual flight

The generous song the wind sings along with the bushes, trees, and leaves

I stand there leaning on my window pane thinking :

Is God here or Is God me?

The alluring familiarity that the south brings back to me

Fire flys pass by every now and then while I was pondering 

Then I asked the wind:

Should I shine my light as if I were free?