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
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.