Whistling (day 1065)

Today there is a sign,
A window of an opening
Whistling softly,
Dragging at my conscience.
I acknowledge it.
I sit cross-legged
To experience its frequencies
Reverberate my lifeline.
This lesson is wordless,
Perched upon low hanging ledges
Of spring’s naked birch trees.
I imagine smoke
Wafting its sacred essence.
And my peace and gratitude
Flows mingling with the wind,
Vibrating to wordless words
Whistling through my conscience.

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