Freedom is a kayak floating, alone on a silent dark lake flooded with fullmoon light

Freedom is a kayak floating

Freedom is a kayak

Freedom is floating

Freedom is a lake

Freedom is the night

Freedom is the moon

Freedom is silent

Freedom is silence

But silence speaks with midnight whispers softly across wooden jetties

Bathing blue crystals for eternity’s sake, for healing

Or on the post- it note silence passes to me.

It reads – I’m so proud of you for coming this far.

And then another – The stars were so beautiful this morning. Meet me at the same place tomorrow before dawn.

I folded the note tightly, put it on my bedside table and set my alarm clock.

When just before dawn I woke up to the alarm bell,

Fearing I had missed her,

Maybe she wouldn’t be there,

I hurried to the jetty and there she was.

I was so ecstatic and relieved

I said – Good Morning!

At first she ignored me, as silence tends to do.

Trying to impress her, engage her, remind her I was there,

Pointing, I said – Look, a shooting star!

She nodded, then hushed me like a baby.

She later left me another note in my room.

It read – You talk too much. Just let it be.

That night I paddled the kayak, alone, floated it out onto the silent dark lake flooded with fullmoon light and I cried, like a new born baby.

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