My friend, Pierre, wrote this poem for me on my birthday. I love it.

(by P.C. Billon)

Shifting your weight, you’ve made your feet at home
In the soft, white sand.

You stop, for a moment
And let the world continue on its way.
The clouds inch their way inland,
And dusk is in full bloom.

A soft wind plays at your hair; it waited, politely, for you
To come to your senses
Before offering companionship.

A few birds patter by, busy with some scheme
Or important errand.
The stems of grass sing softly to you,
Same old world, but
You’re here.

There is nothing here for girl-who-strides,
Blind and preoccupied.

The whisper of the wind,
The gentle drumming of the waves far away,
These exist only for girl-immobile, silent, tuned in.

This moment itself is hers alone;
The universe unfolds its glory for her, pulling out all the stops
For the only audience that matters.

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