If I were an analphabet, I would typify myself as a valley, accentuated with a mutable lawn, adorned with a burst of regal flowers covering a decadent book and a thesaurus, ready to leap at any moment’s notice. I would use the brightest, most piercing letters I could find in the dictionary, creating a sitcom of chatty words that would silently parachute onto paper—those lofty ones, humorously sedating the phrases waiting, cocooned in their flash drives, ready to be printed.
Snitching on the thesaurus, it wasn’t as Google says—“don’t call me by my name.” Embracing the pitiable paragraph about an engraved picture, it was but a musical note… or perhaps it wasn’t either.

And then there are days
when you stop feeling sorry for yourself—
when the weight loosens from your shoulders,
when the chains of ordinary hours
fall quiet around your feet.
Days when all you want
is to let loose.
Yesterday was one of them—
a small, simple apron of freedom
tied around the afternoon.
Let loose with a friend.
Let loose in the park.
Let loose on your feet,
running nowhere in particular.
Let loose by the water fountain.
Let loose and simply be.
Let the sun lean into your soul.
Let the air move through you.
Let the birds stitch their songs
through the open sky above your head.
Let the water speak—
in its clear, patient language.
Let loose of nuisances and small annoyances.
Let loose of tomorrow’s burdens
and even the stubborn cauliflower in your salad.
Let loose of the iron table in the laundry room,
the scissors resting on the kitchen counter,
the shoes waiting on the stairs.
Let loose and run.
Let loose and smile.
Let loose and dance.
Let loose of the old stories
today no longer needs.
Let loose just to let loose—
to escape, if only for a moment.
Let loose of the raggedy T-shirt,
of the small things that cling to you.
And then, quietly—
let His power
brush over you like a gentle rhythm,
until you remember again
you are His,
and it is enough
simply
to be.