In a timeless tradition of not thinking,

I walk.

The bleating of locusts at sundown 

Blurs out the light noise of traffic

And the entire day.

An oncoming motorcar slows,

And the driver smiles at me and waves.

It is my neighbor.

We are simple friends and happy people,

And quietly go on about our ways.

She will say her prayers tonight at bedtime,

And I will listen to the crickets sing.

My vespers will fly up off their legs and wings,

And all of us await the glory

That rises in the sunrise, and then,

We will humbly let another day begin.

We are simple friends and happy people.

-jenn