Greeting the Trees and the Songs of the Wind

How could I lift me out of this fog? I hadn’t showered all day.

So I walked to the bathroom. Turned on the hot water and submerged myself into a cleanse. I couldn’t tell the difference between the tears and the droplets from the showerhead.

But I was moved to sing.

My psalm to God.

A sweet melody of surrender.

Tunes from the pits of my soul rolled off of the top of my dome.

I could feel my pulse through my toes.

This heart began to defrost.

My spirit is still alive.

The sun was gone well before I decided to greet the trees. It was dark out. But this was what I needed. The navy blue hue of the sky was gentle on my eyes.

There I stood on a balcony.

Breathing in the breeze.

Listing mentally all the things I was grateful for.

In that moment, overstaying my welcome in New Orleans didn’t seem so bad.

In fact it seemed to be destined.

I had a roof over my head and fufu and light soup to eat. I had clean clothes, no money, but breath in my lungs. Hours ago I had no idea how I would get home, but I had a brother to call.

In this moment, I was remembering light.

I was remembering that feeling I felt yesterday when I took a nap on a bench.

The sun was kissing me.

Overwhelming me by its warmth.

As much of a romantic as I am, even I have to remind myself that:

I too am loved.

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