Joy is in the whispers

I sat out at dusk, upon my mother’s patio, hidden within the trees, and those hedges, the leaves and the red light.

The red light of the night, which guides flowers and leaves, stems… to grow up or down… into the Earth. Or the sky.

The joy was felt through the whispers, the whispers being  the wind. Rhythmic wind, blowing softly, somehow spirited.

In a moment of Peace, within that spiritual whisper, I recognise.

I want to hear about good things.