Just, sometimes.

In Haiti, I'm learning the merit of just.

Of just being.

Of just waiting.

Of just seeing.

Sometimes, when the sun dips behind the trees, and the air quiets.

Sometimes, when the voices are a calm swarm, and the crickets a soothing lull.

Sometimes, when the clouds are still bright with the departing rays, an ebullient and heaven-filled white,

I close my eyes, and feel the air on my face.

I stand and I brace myself on the balcony railing. 

I take it all in.

I give everything,

And I give nothing.

I just try to be.

And sometimes,

Well, sometimes, it's alright.