Wandering alone on the silent street,
A walk to calm my stressed mind,
The dark and silent night,
Whispering secrets to those who listen.
Few people walking like me;
But unlike me - Try to listen.
I do not have to try,
The road, the trees, the night -
Speak to me, as speaking to a friend.
I sit on a bench and remove my shoes
And the night tells its story.
The stress of the day,
different stories of different people
Lessons taught, lessons learned.
At some point, it yawns -
A soft breeze passes through my hair …
I yawn, too, exhausted yet relaxed -
A strange secure feeling flowing through me.
I start talking -
My part of the conversation -
The night listens. No comments, no judging.
It listens unbiased, as I pour out my thoughts -
Tell it about my day, the good and the bad …
It feels good, to have someone to talk to -
To know that someone listens to every word.
The night listens,
Not because it has to, it listens because it wants to.
I yawn as I watch a street dog stretch itself -
And close its eyes ...
I get up and start walking back home -
The lightness of the heart –
evident in the steps I take.
A smile on my face -
Just like the moon shining in the sky.
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