August 06^th, 2023

The wind in the pines plays a subtle
song, of which I have become
effortlessly aware.
I did not compose it, I do not perform it;
yet it simply is as it is.
Nor do I strain to be aware of it.
It just is as it has always been.
The music, strangely, is as bright as
My Self-lit interior.
If I tried to compose it or
perform it, I could not do so.
If I strained to become aware of it,
it would surely die and fade away.