Listening At Sunset

In a park, I listen at sunset.

I listen to the whooshing of cars, on the highway over there, behind that stand of trees.

I listen to the insects, waking as dusk descends, starting their nocturnal conversations.

I am still.

Instead of others’ voices, especially the sound of loved ones’ demands and needs,

Instead of my voice, my mind, cluttered in reliving the day, as the day winds down,

I listen to the Divine inside me, faintly broadcasting, as I tune to the frequency.

There It is.

I am listening again,

While under the muting sky, the banter of insects grows louder.